Playing By the Rules
by Kade Riggs
Summary: I got tired of Hollywood killing off little brother characters, so I wrote this story about what the future might've held for the brothers if Jack had survived. Mostly focuses on Jack, Bobby, and Angel. Companion piece to Cutting Loose.
1. Chapter 1

In the movies there are rules about brothers.

Rule #1: Brothers always love each other deep down, even if they don't show it.

Rule #2: The weakest brother always dies in order to motivate the stronger brothers to achieve some ultimate goal.

There are other rules, but those are the only two I give a shit about right now. My baby brother died the other day, and unlike in the movies where that sort of thing is used as a plot device, it was completely and utterly pointless in my case. I am Bobby-fucking-Mercer and I don't need any fucking motivation to succeed. What I need is my mind, my anger, and my brothers.

Within the last few days I've accused one brother of the unthinkable and listened to another helplessly scream my name while he bled out into the snow right in front of Ma's house. Instead of calling an ambulance I laid behind a brick wall, worried about my own ass getting shot up and listening to Jack scream. He died in my arms moments later. The worst part of it was he looked strangely happy just before he went, like wherever he was going, it sure beat the hell out of any life I could give him. I think if he'd wanted to stay, he could've. Jerry says I'm crazy, but I think maybe he gave up because when he called for me I didn't come save him.

So yeah. Real bang up job I'm doing of being in charge. Just spectacular.

I've got one of Jack's cigarettes hanging from my lip and I take a slow draw from it every now and then. I'm sitting on his bed with my back against the wall, playing with his guitar. I don't know a single fucking note, but I'm screwing around with it anyway.

It's harder than it looks.

Angel's dealing with grief his own way. He and La Vida Loca are locked in the next room, going at it soft and slow. Jerry's off doing—whatever the fuck it is Jerry does these days.

Jack dies and we all do the same thing we always do when the shit seriously hits the fan; we 'deal' with it.

I'm getting awfully sick of dealing with shit this thick with blood.

Ang and Jerry both have girls to come home to, but I haven't had one for a long time. I came home to my baby brother because he didn't have anyone either. I called him a fag, a fairy for wearing rocker clothes and always fussing over his hair. Truth is—I don't think he actually had a sexual preference. He was too traumatized as a kid. Sex scared him to death. I paid for him to have a lap dance once and when the girl got close to him his eyes went all wide and his whole body started to shake. Thought the kid was having a fucking seizure. Took him most of an hour to snap out of it.

Really, I don't think he ever came out of his shell except with us. The evidence was plain at his funeral. No one else showed. No one cared. He didn't make any other real friends in his short lifetime.

The memories in the house don't do me any good. I can't turn around without seeing something that reminds me of Ma or Jack or both. Pictures on the walls, Jack's skates hanging in the entryway. I should just get the fuck out, but I sit there, strumming noise on Jack's guitar and wishing I'd let him teach me a few cords.

Ma used to say everyone needed a way to express themselves, work out their energy. It was hockey for me, girls for Angel, money deals for Jer, and music for Jack.

Well, here's some music for ya, Fairy. This is your big brother, Bobby. I hope you can hear me, 'cause I'm never going to say this again:

I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry I let you down.


	2. Alternate Storyline

AN: I meant this story as a one shot. I like the concept of the three remaining brothers suffering together through the pointless deaths of two members of their family. _However_, as a writer I thought it was absolutely pointless to kill off Jack and for Hollywood it was insanely redundant. Killing off the little brother figure in action movies has become routine, but at least in movies such as _American Outlaws_ and _The Fast and the Furious_ the death of that particular character served to move the plot along. In Four Brothers, killing Jack served zero purpose because the brothers were already hell bent on seeking revenge at that point in the movie. If Bobby had learned something important (that they hadn't known already) from the killers, it might've worked. As it was, Jack's death became something of a side note; it mattered, but it didn't.

This chapter works as a continuation of the previous chapter, but it's really more of an alternate ending. In some other story in the future I might continue off in another direction with Bobby still dealing with Jack's death.

* * *

From the streets of Detroit and through all my wanderings, including the time I spent in prison, I figured I'd seen just about everything. Nothing surprised me anymore.

I was floored, fucking _floored_ when Jerry half-carried a very alive Jack through the front door of ma's house a number of weeks after the water burial of Victor Sweet.

I'd never been speechless in my life until that moment. Not a Goddamn thought came to mind. I had not a word to say. My jaw hung open and I stared at them dumbly. Sitting in a nearby chair, Angel mimicked me to a T .

Jack grinned in my general direction, his blue eyes dull and glassy. He was obviously doped on something. His face was thin and had paled to the color of ash. "You've got a big fucking mouth, Bobby. You'd better shut it before someone walks up and pops you."

Angel moved to help Jer sit the kid down, but there wasn't much he could do. The arm Jack didn't have around Jerry was bound up in a sling. Angel had to sort of grab the kid around the waist. Together, they helped him make a controlled collapse on the couch beside me.

Them big teeth of Jerry's were on full display in a knowing grin. "Told you guys I had a late Christmas present for you," he said, chuckling.

To say I felt off kilter was an understatement, but that couldn't keep me silent forever. "I told you I wanted a hooker," I said. "Why'd you dig up this fossil? We buried him, remember?"

"You buried sandbags," Jack commented, breathing hard like he'd just run a half mile. He smiled a little. "Not like you idiots would know the difference."

Jerry took a seat in his regular armchair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He rubbed his palms together to warm them, still chuckling. "I knew you'd like it. Little brother, back in action. Before ya know it, it'll be like he never left."

"Like he never _died_? Yeah, sure. Thing is, he did die, I saw it myself. What the fuck were you guys playing at?" Angel asked, still towering over all of us, standing in the middle of the living room. He looked back and forth between our brothers, waiting for an answer.

"I did die," Jack said, suddenly sobering. He shook his head a little, looking thoughtful. "I stopped breathing and my heart stopped. It seemed like a whole lifetime to me, but later they told me it was probably only four to six minutes. I can't even begin to describe what I saw. I glimpsed heaven, just for a minute, and it felt so peaceful." He paused, letting that sink in. Every one of us had turned somber, listening to him. "I didn't ever want to leave that place. I didn't want to come back. I could've stayed forever and that would've been all right..." he trailed off.

"So why'd you come back, Jackie? I mean, we love ya, but this ain't no heaven we've got here," Angel asked, motioning to the world extending out from where we sat with both hands.

"Well," Jack said, biting his lip a little and letting his left eye fall half way shut. "At first that's what I thought too. I decided just to stay there. Then there was this voice calling to me, and at first I couldn't make it out, but then when I finally heard it clearly I decided I had to come back."

We all leaned forward slightly, waiting in earnest. After a moment I prodded him gently. He looked like he'd traveled a million miles away from us. "_And_? What'd the voice say, Jackie? What made you wanna come back to this pit of a life?"

"Oh, that," he said, like it was nothing. "Yeah, it was Bobby yelling, 'stay away from that Goddamn white light, you fucking fairy!'"

They all started laughing. I wasn't amused. "I didn't say that," I deadpanned stupidly.

They laughed harder.

Jack started to cough a number of seconds into his laughing fit, and before he finished he nearly hacked up his lungs. Jerry went to get him a glass of water, and until he got back I just had to sit there and listen to the kid cough and gag. A minute later Jack sucked down water while I turned an arched brow on Jeremiah.

"So, you knew he was alive. What, he called you this morning and asked for a ride home from the hospital?" I said sarcastically, tipping my head slightly to one side.

Jerry shook his head. "Na, man. Camille's got a couple nurse friends who work over at the hospital. They called me when he got there after the shootout. Laying in the snow saved him, brought down his temperature enough that they were able to revive him in the ambulance. I figured if anyone knew we had a brother in the hospital they'd use him to hurt us. I told Camille's friend to find a way to hide him, make it look like he died. They switched his name with a guy who bit it in a car wreck the night before. By the time the paperwork got sorted out, we'd already buried a coffin and Jackie had stabilized enough to get transferred out of the city."

"So why didn't you fucking tell us?" I asked, not sounding pleased in the least. Later I'd acknowledge to myself the brilliance of such a plan under desperate circumstances, but at the moment I felt out of the loop and that pissed me off.

Jerry smiled. "Figured you boys had enough on your minds. When Jack came around and the whole thing started to blow over, it just never seemed like the right time to drop the bomb. Besides, it was so worth it to see the look on your face, Bobby," he snickered, elbowing Angel who snickered his agreement.

Jack started to laugh again too, but I shot him a killer glare and he drowned it in his water, quickly turning his eyes in some other direction. "Let's not get you started again, Fairy. You abuse that half-healed lung it'll end up quitting on you, then I'll have you dying on me for good."

He stuck out his lower lip a little in a fake pout, puppy dog eyes looking up at me from where he'd slouched down on the couch. I just shook my head. "That cute, lost little boy look might work on your boyfriends, but it ain't never gonna work on me, Cracker Jack."

He shrugged, smirking a little. "Tonia Collins liked it," he said, referring to a girl I'd dated seriously in the years leading up to my absence from Detroit. That one got a round of conspiratorial laughter from Jerry and Angel, so for a second or two I wondered if there might be some truth to that statement.

Then I remembered who we were talking about. Jack, engaging in an intimate relationship? Yeah, right. Even if the boy knew he had a dick, he sure as hell wouldn't know what to do with it.

I ruffled his already messy hair, pulling the kid under my arm and putting my boots up on the coffee table. "All right, all right. Let's just settle down and watch the game. Angel, go cook us something to eat."

"Ah, man. Why do I gotta cook, Bobby? Why can't we order out like always?"

I rolled my eyes, grabbing Jack's face under his jaw, drawing attention to how weak and thin he'd become. "Does _he_ look up to cooking, Ang? The fairy can hardly walk. We've gotta get some good home cooking in him. Since you're next on the line, little brother, you get to do the dirty work until Cracker heals up."

"Which could be never," Jack commented, his mouth slightly smashed by my grip until I released his face.

Angel put on his best agitated-marine façade, angrily shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargos. "Man, you know I can't cook."

I nodded. "You're right. Jerry, go help him."

"What!"

"Yeah, both of you, in the kitchen, right fucking now. Don't make me tell you again!"

They both grumbled, reluctantly obeying in spite of their protests. When they were most of the way out of earshot Jack adjusted his shoulders under my arm so the weight wouldn't rest on any tender spots. "That was awesome," he said, grinning. "I don't remember the last time I got to sit around while they worked."

I smiled, giving him a brotherly squeeze while my other arm came up to rest behind my head. "Shuddup, Cracker Jack. I'm watching the game."

It felt good to have part of that space inside me filled up again. The place that emptied out after losing Ma, and even more after losing Jack. I still had to make a man out of the kid, but I figured Ma would appreciate it if I babied him a little, like she used to.

I decided I would let him get away with playing the 'hurt little brother' card...

...at least until _after_ dinner...


	3. Settling In

AN: I'm not really sure where I'm going with this yet, but I think it just might turn out to be a little bit of a Bobby romance. And here I thought I was a Jack girl...

* * *

We set Jack up on the couch for the night so he wouldn't have to deal with the stairs. He hadn't let on at first, but he was bad off. His coughing fits scared me more than anything. He'd get going and before we knew it he'd hardly be able to breathe. The bullet had clipped his right lung, according to Jerry. It would take years for the organ to heal, and it would probably never be quite the same.

His shot up knee didn't bother him much so long as he kept it still, but the muscle damage around his wounded shoulder was extensive, any movement of his right arm or twisting of his upper body stopped the kid in his tracks and probably felt the same as getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. Even I admit that Jack can take punches like a man. When he was twelve years old he got beat within an inch of his life and when we visited him in the hospital he bit his lip to blood before he'd let the pain drive him to tears.

Off the hospital's morphine for the first time since he got shot, Jack cried most of the night. I ain't kidding, either. The more he tried to hold it in, the worse it got. At around two in the morning I smacked him across the face and ordered him to let it the fuck out before he killed himself. The spasms in his breathing mixed with the coughing fits punished his lungs to the point where he started to spit up blood into a bucket.

He had codeine, but that first night it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

I think part of it was the trip he'd taken that day. During the weeks he'd spent in bed he'd essentially lost all the muscle mass in his body, so a long day of excitement left him too exhausted and stressed to cope with anything. Between midnight and about three in the morning he just broke down. By the time he calmed and the medicine finally started to help, I was lying on the floor next to the couch with a pillow and blanket, just starting to doze off.

Jack had been silent for a solid fifteen minutes; when he spoke softly in the darkness I almost jumped out of my skin. "Hey, Bobby, can I ask you something personal?"

My eyes flicked open and I realized that I'd started drooling on my pillow. I wiped at my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "How personal?" I asked, sounding groggy even to my own ears.

"I wanna know if anyone ever tried to make you take it up the ass while you were in prison."

I shivered at the thought of that, and the soft calmness he used when speaking of the subject. I pulled my blanket tighter around myself, suddenly feeling squicked out.

"No. I never did a stint long enough to have to deal with much of that shit. When I was in I never let myself get caught alone. If I ever did, I punched first, ran second, and asked questions later. Why, you have fantasies about that kind of thing?" I asked, not actually caring to know. I hoped he'd just fall silent again and let me pretend to fall asleep.

"I was raped when I was six. All I remember is that it hurt so bad I never thought I'd feel that level of pain ever again. Then, I got shot in the chest and the knee..."

I lifted my head and turned to look over my shoulder at him. With the aid of the streetlights filtering in through the window curtains I could see him laying there, his back propped up at one end of the couch. Tear streaks still glistened on his cheeks, but they were drying quickly. It had been some time since I'd seen him looking so vulnerable and small. It reminded me of when Ma had adopted him, at age eight. He'd looked like a depressed stick figure back then too.

"Did Ma know that?" I asked, bewildered that I'd never known. Sure, mom told us Jack had seen some bad stuff, had some bad stuff happen to him too. Since he'd been so young and never knew his real parents, I figured he'd just gotten beat up a lot in the group home or something like that.

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I never said it out loud until just now, but I think she knew."

"Oh," I said, letting a pause settle in the conversation. "Is that why you wouldn't come near me the first six months you were here? You were afraid I'd pull that sort of shit?"

"I think so. I was eight, you were eighteen; you looked huge to me. Big brothers were bad news in foster homes, you know that. Mostly they'd just beat me up for no reason. I could handle that. The guy who hurt me, he was supposed to be my foster brother. He was so strung out on acid or something I don't know if he could tell the difference between me and his girlfriend, but that didn't matter. His girlfriend did some sick shit to me too. I wanted to kill them both, even when I was six."

"I'll bet," I said. I'd never tell Jack, but if I ever met the people who hurt him—made him a post-traumatic stress victim—I'd pour gasoline on the bastard and light them on fire. No hesitation. "So—what made you change your mind about me?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Sure, all my brothers respected me in their own way. They respected my temper, my leadership, and sometimes even my bullshit, but Jack had fucking worshiped me at times during his childhood. Can't say I didn't appreciate the fact, but I'd always wondered why. I teased him mercilessly, and as far as I knew I didn't exactly possess a lot of the qualities associated with good role models.

"By the time I was nine or so I figured out that you'd kill for me. That made me feel safe. Little kids who get beat up a lot like feeling safe. When I got shot, all I could think was that if you were there with me, I'd be all right. I wouldn't get hurt anymore. I knew you wouldn't let me die," he said calmly, like he really believed it.

"Yeah, right," I said, but the words didn't mean anything. I didn't know _what_ to say to him. I'd gotten him back from the dead, but somehow it felt like I didn't deserve it. I hid behind a brick wall while the kid nearly bled to death...

"You didn't let me down, Bobby. You got there without doing something stupid and getting yourself killed. For you, that's saying something," he prodded, smirking weakly.

I rolled my eyes, even though he probably couldn't see it. "This from a fairy who was crying his eyes out on my shoulder twenty minutes ago. Hold on while I go get your teddy bear, princess," I said, laying back down on the floor and turning onto my side, away from him.

He chuckled lightly, and I could hear him repositioning to get comfortable under his own blanket. "Good-night, Bobby," he said.

"Good-night, Elisabeth," I mimicked.

I wondered if he'd get the reference from Ma's old favorite TV show.

A pillow impacted my backside.

He got it.


	4. Old Flames

Angel and I traded off baby-sitting duty during the long months it took for Jack to heal up. I worked as a bouncer at a bar at night. Angel worked construction for Jerry during the day. Jack rotted his brain watching TV.

Feeling the need to tough love the fairy, I started making him read. Got myself a library card for the first time in my life and picked up stuff for Cracker Jack in the early evening, before work. I got him a lot of music type stuff. CDs, books on guitars, comics, some romance novels... Surprisingly enough he took right to it. Reading, not romance novels—he chucked those at my head.

I was working _behind_ the bar for once on a slow Tuesday night. I hardly noticed until she sat down right in front of me, but my old girlfriend, Tonia Collins, showed up at about eleven thirty.

"Bobby?" she said, looking at me like I must be a ghost, a slight smile shaping her features.

I smiled back. I hadn't even thought about this girl for years, yet I found myself glad to see her. Me and Ton had some heavy history going all the way back to high school. Ma had liked her, even thought I might settle down and marry her one day. That was part of the reason I'd left Detroit, besides the legal trouble I had and getting kicked out of the league. People saw me going steady with a real nice girl and started whispering about the infamous Bobby Mercer settling into a domesticated home life.

At first I just scoffed at the idea, but then it started to sink in as a possibility. The second it seemed plausible even in my mind I packed my shit and ran.

"Hey, baby," I said softly, drying a glass with a towel. "What can I get for you?"

Tonia never struck anyone as an extraordinarily good looking girl. I think it caught my brothers off guard when I started seeing her because I'd always come off as the shallowest of the shallow when it came to women. I ain't saying she's ugly, because she's not. I'm just saying that at one point a very fine La Vida Loca made a pass at me (long before Angel was legal) and I turned her down out of a sense of loyalty to my relatively plain featured girl.

Sofi didn't take the rejection well. Part of the reason she went after Angel _before_ he became a buff marine was to get back at me. Heh, her loss.

I always suspected that part of my attraction to Tonia was the fact that she balanced me. She played things cool, never got worked up over anything. I'd asked her once why she never got angry and she'd just shrugged the question off, smiling like she was too mellow to even know _why._

I'd almost forgotten how peaceful it felt to just shoot the shit with her. We chatted a little that night—small talk mostly. Usually a girl looks for a guy who can make her laugh, but Ton was always the one making me laugh. When we were in high school we'd sit together at lunch and she'd get me going until milk came out of my nose. For a long time that was the only reason I bothered to show up to school.

"_Soo, _you seeing anybody?" I broached after a while, my arms crossed, and both elbows resting on the bar. The only other customers in the place were two construction guys having a beer at the other end of the bar and watching the baseball game. If they needed anything, they'd holler, so I was free to sit there and talk for a while.

She shrugged one shoulder, her face not betraying an answer. "I got married a couple years ago. Got divorced a couple of months ago. He's a banker. Mom was proud when we got engaged, she was proud when I worked up the nerve to end it."

I whistled. A banker? Damn. Just a few years ago the whole neighborhood had this girl pinned as the type who should settle for a Mercer. I always knew she was better than that. I just never told her. I mean, come on... Why blow my chances?

"What, he turn out to be gay? Maybe you should give me his number so I can hook him up with Jackie. Ma would've loved to know her baby had a guy who could take real good care of him," I snickered, ribbing my brother even when he wasn't there to hear it. Either it's a habit or I'm an asshole, and the votes of my brothers don't count.

She grinned back at me, taking a sip from her beer. "Na, he wasn't gay. He loved his job. There's nothing wrong with that. I just figured if I had to eat dinner alone and spend holidays alone I might as well be single."

"And you missed me," I said jokingly, like I was stating the obvious. "You ever call my name while you were with him? If he knew me, that probably would've just about made him shit."

I'd taken my best shots at making Tonia blush while we'd been together, but I'd never succeeded until that night. She smiled, shaking her head and taking a drink, her cheeks turning the mildest shade of pink.

"Once," she admitted.

I cracked up. Leaning sideways, I started to shake from laughing so hard, slapping the bar with an open palm. She smiled with me, apparently taking pleasure in making me laugh until I had to wipe the tears out of my eyes.

Her eyes became distant after a moment. "It was the only time it got half as hot as you and I could make it. He happened to bite my ear like you used to, and it just sort of slipped. You're right, I think he did just about shit himself," she agreed amiably. "Not that he knew you. He'd just heard of you—from my little cousin, Jordan. Jordy scared the hell out of him with stories about the Mercers and the shit you guys used to pull, like burning down the neighbor's house. Jordy's still got a poster of you, from when you were in the league. I think you were his favorite player."

I couldn't remember if I knew this kid. I'd probably met him in passing after a game. Tonia and her family used to go to all my games. Her mother loved hockey. Her dad did too, before he died.

"If he's as a big a fan as your mom, he probably loved it that you dated a player in the league," I said.

"Yeah, he did. I think he really liked you, though. When he was ten or eleven you taught him how to pass and shoot. He never forgot it. You know, you really are good with kids, Bobby. Especially boys."

"Yeah? You think so?" I asked, smirking.

She grinned back. "Yeah. Really."

I shrugged. "Huh, I'll have to open a day care. Mercer Brothers Lock 'n' Load Baby-Sitting. I'll bet Jackie would get into that if I let him pick out the curtains and shit. Assuming he could actually get his ass off the couch at some point in the future."

"Yeah, I heard about what happened to him, and your mom," she said, no hint of emotion in her tone. She'd finished her beer and I popped the cap off a fresh one for her. She took a drink from the new one while I took the empty and tossed it in a box under the counter. "So, do I get to tell you I'm sorry for your loss?"

"Nope," I said, carefully avoiding eye contact with her. It amused me that she still knew me so well. She was the only girl I've ever met who could sense when to give me space; and had the patience to give it to me for as long as I needed it. That's probably why we stuck together so long. She didn't drive me nuts, and she didn't let me drive her away.

"Do I get to invite you and your brothers over to my place for dinner Sunday night?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

I grinned. "Yeah, as long as by 'your place' you mean 'the Mercer place.' For a fairy, Jack's a fucking load to drag around. He can't walk on his bum knee yet."

"What about crutches?"

"They hurt his shoulder too bad."

"What's he doing for physical therapy?"

"Sitting on his pretty fucking ass and watching TV all day. What else?"

Tonia shrugged, her eyes rolling up toward the ceiling and one slender hand making a 'you'll have that' motion. "Well, you know I did study for a year or so to be a physical therapist before I dropped out of community college. I had a three month internship with a trainer, so I might be able to suggest a few things he could do to strengthen those muscles while he's sitting around."

I started to edge my way over to the guys sitting at the other end of the bar, feeling I should probably make sure they were still doing good. While I backed up I smiled, never taking my eyes off of her. "That'd be great. Sunday, then. Eight sound all right?"

"Eight, perfect," she said, saluting me with her beer before killing it. She got up, pulling the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "I'd better get going, it's late."

"Hey, baby, let me call you a cab," I said, still slowly walking backward, following her progress toward the door.

"My car's just outside," she said, pointing in the direction of the lot out front.

"Then I'll walk you out. Just wait a minute.

"You guys cool for a few minutes?" I asked, ever so briefly turning my attention to the other customers. The guys on the end just nodded, their eyes never straying from the TV screen.

I met her near the door, hopping over the part of the bar made to flip up to let staff come and go while keeping patrons from wandering into the back. I didn't have a jacket on, but fortunately the temperature had risen into the high forties that week. Spring was finally melting away the hard Detroit winter.

The sixty foot walk to her car went by without incident, although a little too quickly for my tastes. I didn't really want her to leave. Living with my brothers was great, but we all needed a break from each other. Reminiscing with Tonia was the most fun I'd had for a while and Sunday seemed awfully far away.

When we reached her faded, light blue Chevy, she slipped her arms around my waist without any prompting, fitting all five feet, four inches of her frame neatly into my arms. One of her hands slid up my neck to the base of my skull and she pulled me down for a short kiss. She laughed against my mouth, pulling away and rubbing at her chin with the back of her hand. Her eyes were green. I'd forgotten; I remembered now that they were locked with mine.

Tonia smiled, stroking at my jaw line. "Rougher than I'm used to," she whispered.

My brow furrowed slightly. "Bad thing?"

She smiled. "Na. Tough Guy needs a tough girl. Either that or Tough Guy needs a shave and a haircut," she teased, running her fingers back through my hair.

"You liked it when it was short?" I asked, my eyes rolling up with the reference to my slicked back hair. For a while I'd kept up a longish crew cut when we'd gone together. She'd always liked to run her fingers through it when it was freshly buzzed.

"Hmm, yeah; but I think maybe I like you in general, Bobby Mercer." She kissed me again, and then pulled away reluctantly. I closed the door behind her when she got in her car, and then she drove away.

I slipped my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt and walked back to the bar, my grin all cheese.


	5. Taunt and Tease

AN: Hey, thanks so much to everyone for reviewing! I appreciate it so much, I really do! I'm trying to work out a direction and plot angle for the rest of this story. I've got some ideas, but I'd like to hear what you all think. Any suggestions you've got would be great.

* * *

"Bobby's got a girlfriend, Bobby's got a girlfriend," Angel chanted not quite under his breath. He stuffed a spoonful of Captain Crunch in his mouth just as I looked up from the morning paper to glare at him. 

"Thin ice, little brother, thin ice," I threatened, going back to my reading of the police blotter. I'd found one of Jack's lighters on the kitchen table and I absently played with it, flipping it open and spinning the wheel before flipping it shut again.

"How can you tell he's got a girl?" Sofi groaned, walking into the kitchen, her eyes drooping. She'd just gotten the fuck out of bed and her makeup was still fucking perfect. Never in my life had I met a girl _that_ bent on her appearance.

She collapsed in a chair next to Angel, pulling her robe tighter around her body and squinting in the morning light.

"The only time Bobby's quiet is when he's got a girl on the brain. It never happened often, but when it did, things sure would get peaceful around here," Angel said, one cheek fat with cereal. He grabbed the box and poured more on top of what he already had in the bowl.

"Let it go, man," I responded dully. "And don't talk with your mouth full."

"Guys! I need a lift," Jack shouted from the living room.

"It's your turn," I said, still not looking up.

Angel shook his head, pointing at me accusingly with his spoon. "That is bull_shit_. I'm eating. You know the rules. The guy who isn't eating takes care of baby brother. Besides, daytime's your shift, bro."

"Not for ten more minutes. It's only six fifty and I haven't even fucking been to bed yet."

"Don't be a lazy ass, Bobby," Sofi cut in.

"Don't be a lazy ass?" I got to my feet, slamming the paper and lighter down and leaning across the table toward the two of them, both palms spread flat on the wooden surface shoulder width apart. "I don't see _you_ working all fucking night to support this family, Loco Ono. I don't see _you _trying to help pay off Jackie's fucking medical bills or helping Angel take care of him! You can't cook for shit and you don't even clean the Goddamn house. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick your ass out the fucking door right now! The way I see it, you're taking food out of my baby brother's mouth and I ain't havin' it no more!"

"Man, don't talk to my girl that way."

"Your girl, Angel? Your girl? Your girl got down on her knees to suck my cock when you were still in junior high! You were second choice after me, but now you're stuck with her. Either teach _your_ girl to clean the fucking house and start paying her share or she's evicted tomorrow. No exceptions, no excuses. To—_fucking—_morrow!"

"Bobby! I really have to go!" Jack groaned from the next room.

I let a pause sit between me and those two, staring each of them down in turn. I finally straightened up, kicking the chair I'd just been sitting in out of my way. They both jumped when it slammed into the wall.

Jack was sitting up, wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt. He'd just recently fallen out of the habit of wearing his sling, but he still kept his right arm close to his chest, guarding it with the rest of his body.

"Took ya long enough," he said when I grabbed his left arm and pulled it over my shoulders, helping him to his feet.

"Had some business to take care of," I said, leading him toward the stairs.

"I heard. Kicking the dog?"

"I prefer to call her a bitch."

"I think she's taller than you, Bobby. She could probably scratch your eyes out with those claws she's got."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say. Never fuck with a pyro who knows where you sleep."

He laughed at that one.

* * *

"So, you really got a girlfriend?" he asked. He was sitting on the toilet, reading _Guitar World_ or some shit like that. I was brushing my teeth at the sink, getting ready for bed. 

"No," I said, spitting into the sink.

"Don't you lie to me, Mr. Mercer," he said, mimicking the high, nasally, slightly gay-ish voice of the local high school's vice principal. A man I'd dubbed 'Seamore Butts' during my reign of terror. The nickname had stuck at least through Jack's graduation date.

I would've made a crack about how homo he sounded, but I laughed so hard I almost choked on my toothbrush. I spat three more times into the sink, and then rinsed my mouth out. "That was pretty good, Fairy," I said when I finished coughing.

He grinned in typical shy-ish Jack fashion. "You like that?" he asked, keeping his eyes on his reading material.

"Yeah. You ever actually use that one on old 'Seamore?'"

"No. But I did break into the school with some guys and left a big can of turtle wax on his desk. You know, so he could buff that shiny chrome dome of his."

I nodded, my features taking on a 'whaddya know' expression. "Not bad, Cracker Jack. Prank like that's almost good enough for me to take credit for."

He chuckled. "You did take credit for it, man. Note on the wax said, 'Dear Butts, this is for your head, not your dick. Love, Bobby.' Cops spent three days looking for you before they decided to just blame the vandalism on kids from across town."

"So why didn't they look you up? Question you about the break in?"

He shrugged. "Note said 'Bobby,' not 'Mercer.' Nothing but circumstantial there."

My brow furrowed and I started counting on the figures of my right hand, frowning a little as I had to start over a number of times.

"What is it?" he finally asked, tearing his eyes away from his magazine, absently rolling it up in one hand.

"I think you just said a four syllable word without your brain overheating, Jackie. Hang on, I need to count one more time to make sure..."

"Get bent," he said, using that wingspan of his to smack my leg as hard as he could with the rolled up magazine. I only just hopped out of the way before he could smack me a second time.

"Hey, I think that _was_ four syllables. I'm gonna go call Jerry at work, he'll never believe it," I said, laughing as I walked out of the bathroom and jogged down the stairs.

"Fuck. Fuck, Bobby! Bobby, don't fucking leave me here, you jerk off! Bob—ahh shit... I need some fucking toilet paper!"


	6. Dinner

AN: As always, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. The motivation is very much appreciated and I hope that you all continue to enjoy the story. This chapter was going to have some 'Oo La La!' material in it, but since it started to run long I decided to save it for the next chapter. I suppose that's a warm-up warning for anyone who feels uncomfortable with adult situations;-)

* * *

Sofi had taken a hike by the time the weekend rolled around. She asked Angel to move in with her over at her sister's apartment. Even though he's pussy whipped he finally worked up the balls to tell her 'no.'

The thing Sofi can never seem to understand is that it doesn't matter how much we argue, Angel looks up to me almost as much as Jack does. More so, even, in some regards. When I bully people, Jack will try to stand up to me if he thinks I've gone too far. He makes the attempt when things get too hot to handle. Angel won't. Angel **likes** being tough shit and it got him kicked out of plenty of foster homes before mom adopted him. He only made it as a Mercer because from moment Angel met me, he had to redefine his definition of tough. He realized I had plenty to teach him about survival, and he became my most avid student.

If only one brother of mine stood next to me in a fight against unbeatable odds, I'd always choose Angel over Jack or Jerry because I know he'll stay right in there with me to the end without thinking about it.

Jack and Ang both respect me, both look up to me. I'm about the only person in the world that neither of them can say 'no' to forever. On any subject, it's only a matter of time before I get what I want out of them. If I want Jackie to quit smoking, it'll happen. If I want La Vida Loca out of my house, eventually it'll happen. End of story.

Besides, Angie-boy probably figured I'd kill him if he left me to take care of Jack on my own—and he was right about that much.

* * *

Tonia arrived right on time Sunday night. The second the doorbell rang Angel and I both sprinted out of the living room, racing to reach the door first. Why? I don't know. He probably just did it to piss me off... Aggravating son of a bitch...

I got there first, but he used all his weight to slam me out of the way. In the end Tonia let herself in, finding me and Angel wrestling on the floor of the entryway. Him with the momentary advantage.

"Hello, Mercers," she chuckled, carefully stepping over the two of us and carrying whatever parcels she'd brought with her to the kitchen.

Neither of us paused long enough to return her greeting.

"Jack, I brought your favorite!" she shouted.

"Steak!" he yelled back hopefully from the couch.

"No, silly! My mom's chocolate pie."

"That outta help with your hormones, Fairy!" I called, right before Angel's elbow collided with my face during our struggle. We both froze, realizing the game was over.

"Ah, shit," he said, looking down at me. "Dude, I didn't mean that."

"What, am I bleedin'?" I asked, touching my lip.

"Just a little," he said, hauling his heavy ass off of me and pulling me to my feet. He smacked me on the back and we headed for the food. "Fortunately for me, my big brother can take a punch."

"I think you knocked my tooth loose."

"A fake one or a real one?" he asked, splitting off from our shared path to enter the living room.

"Fake," I said, using my tongue to wiggle it. The tooth only moved fractionally, so I could've imagined it. For the most part it felt pretty secure in my jaw.

I walked over to where Tonia stood next to the counter, unpacking various goodies out of her grocery bags. "Hey, baby. Can you tell me if you think my K-9 just got knocked loose?"

She craned her neck to look in my mouth, using her fingers to gently wiggle the tooth I indicated. "That one of the teeth you lost when that guy head butted you in the mouth with his helmet?"

"Yesh," I said, her fingers still in my mouth.

She snickered at the memory, her pale lips curving up a little more on one side than on the other. "You know, honey, they invented mouth guards for a reason," she reminded, about ten years too late.

"_See_, I _told you_ Bobby's got a girlfriend," Angel announced, half carrying Jack over to the table from the living room.

Baby brother grinned. "Look, Angel. She's already got him eating out of the palm of her hand."

They pretended to sigh in a chorus of, "Aww."

I probably would've murdered them both on the spot, but it was hard to concentrate on something so mundane with Tonia's arm winding around my neck. She dragged me over to the sink and made me bend over so she could scoop warm water from the faucet into her hand and use it to clean my lip.

"I think your baby needs a band-aid for his booboo," Angel commented, walking over to lean against the counter and watch Tonia wash the blood out of my mouth. He'd picked up the last banana off the table and peeled it while enjoying the spectacle, taking a big bite.

"I knew you were a cocksucker," I said the first chance I got, indicating the fruit in his hand.

The headlock Ton had on me noticeably tightened and I noticed she had a sudsy washcloth in her free hand. "Now let's see, how old _were_ you the first time I saw your mother clean out your mouth with this rag, Bobby?"

I immediately pulled away from her, putting several feet of distance between me and that washcloth. She smiled just a little at my reaction. I pointed at her, leveling my gaze. "That's not funny," I said.

Angel smacked his thigh and roared with laughter.

Jack got going pretty good himself, triggering a short coughing fit. Before he finished coughing he started talking, grinning in spite of his drained color and bloodshot eyes. Over time we'd all gotten used to the fits. I hardly noticed them anymore. "Shit, are you serious? Mom actually stuffed that thing in Bobby's mouth?"

"Hell, yeah, she did! She got him good a few times too. God, it was hilarious. Too bad it was before your time, Jackie. Believe me, you never saw that woman mad in your life. She was never strict with you like she was with Bobby. Big brother ate _more_ than his share of soap as a child. Damn but did he need it, though!"

I glared at Angel, wondering for a moment if I should cut him down verbally or physically.

"Food's on in five, gentlemen. If you would kindly set the table for a lady, I'm sure I'd appreciate it," Tonia interrupted, gracefully ending our impending argument and taking the chicken out of the oven at the same time. She still knew exactly which drawer we kept the hot pad holders in. I'm not even sure I know where we keep them. "Ooo, who learned to cook? You guys did a nice job on this."

Realizing that my opportunity to strike back had evaded me I resolved to head for the fridge and grab myself a beer.

"I read the cookbook, Angel did the cooking," Jack said, taking a potato chip and popping it in his mouth.

Becoming frustrated upon finding we didn't have any brew in the fridge, I felt the desperate need to take a crack at that particular comment. Everyone in the room knew that without someone watching over him, Angel had two left feet in the kitchen. Any day of the week I'd take prison food over whatever Angel had cooking. "Baby brother had to hold your hand in here, huh, Ang?" I prodded, my tone letting them know I was in the mood to be a dick, so they shouldn't act surprised.

Angel just shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest and catching Tonia's glance when she turned to set the meat on the table. "Can you believe this fool, Tonni? He busts our balls day and night—but I'll bet if we both moved out, he'd walk around in dirty clothes all the time and barely survive on beer and cheetos."

I walked over to him, licking my thumb, and using it to scrub at his cheek. He shoved me away, his face contorting in disgust. "What's wrong with you, man?" he said, using a sleeve to wipe off my saliva.

"Just trying to clean off some of that ash from the fireplace, Cinderella," I shot back, chuckling as I took a seat next to Jackie. "Don't worry, Angel-bear, we've got your _fairy_ Godmother right here. She'll make sure you get to the ball in time to dance with Prince Charming."

Jack turned to look at me, both elbows resting on the table. "That make you our evil stepmother?" he asked.

I shot him an evil grin. "The only fairy tale at this table is you, Cracker Jack. Now would somebody please go get me a fucking beer?"


	7. Dessert

AN: There is some sexual content in this chapter. It's not very descriptive content, but if anyone has a problem with adult situations, I suggest they skip down to the next page break and read from there, thus avoiding the material that might cause upset. I toned down the scene since I dropped the rating to 'teen,' so in my opinion it isn't too bad. But, then again--I wrote it...

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters. I don't know what I'd do without you guys:-)

* * *

"Dinner good?" Tonia asked, settling in a little closer next to me.

We sat on the couch in a dark living room, watching a late night movie. Angel had gone to bed because he had work early the next morning. Jack had dozed off in the recliner. For the last several minutes my ears had tuned in on my little brother's steady, even breathing. Before her words interrupted my thoughts, I'd been thanking God, mom, whoever, that my stomach was full, my brother alive, and for the moment I had nothing to worry about.

Mushy, I know.

Maybe I'd spent too much time around the fairy lately. Instead of me toughening him up, he was making me soft. That had to stop... First thing in the morning...

"The best, baby," I whispered, my arm moving to rest around her shoulders. As usual I had my boots up on the coffee table. If Ma had still been around, she would've chewed me out good for leaving scuff marks.

I was feeling mellow, calm, quiet even. Partially because I was tired, partially because at some point in my life dark rooms mixed with the sound of the TV started to strike me as safe havens, reminding me of evenings I spent in the Mercer house with Ma and my brothers. Of all the places on Earth, here, in my home, I could relax.

She didn't say anything else, just slipped a hand under my shirt and beater, her palm coming to rest low on my belly, just above the hem of my jeans. With any other girl I would've complained about the moment of coldness against my skin, but with her I didn't. She knew me. Long ago she'd learned what I liked and disliked.

After a few quiet moments of letting her body rest against mine, her hand mere inches from where I really wanted it, she started to lightly drag her nails across the tender flesh just about my beltline. She flattened her hand and rubbed back along the path her nails had taken, soothing away the heat that had started building in my lower abdomen before reigniting it with another agonizingly slow clawing motion.

The second she started teasing me goose bumps popped up all over my body. I groaned into her mouth when it finally met mine.

I tried thinking back to the last time I'd gotten any action, but with all the blood in my brain quickly flowing south, at that point _any _thinking at all felt like smacking myself in the head with a frying pan, so I gladly resolved to knock it off.

She pulled away briefly to take a breath and adjust her angle, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she whispered, leaning in to meet me for another kiss.

"Why?" I asked, drawing her closer with the arm I'd wound around her waist, pushing her hair back with the opposite hand so I could attack her neck with my mouth. Almost of its own accord, my hand started to wander up her shirt, and thus I reacquainted myself with her breasts in the most inappropriate way possible. She sighed, her fingers tightening in my hair when I growled playfully, sinking my teeth into her neck.

"You're a bad, bad boy, Bobby Mercer," she groaned, fighting to keep her voice soft so she wouldn't wake Jack.

It had been a _long _time for me. I really don't know how the hell we made it all the way upstairs. I hardly got her pants off and my belt undone before my cock was inside her and we were rocking hard on my bed like we'd never been apart. Okay, so obviously we _had_ been apart. I hadn't ever experienced any serious make-up sex with Tonia, because we never had the sort of relationship where we lived to fight and then 'help each other get over it.' I imagined it might've felt sort of like that--like making up; each of us expressing deep seated forgiveness and remorse while sharing something amazingly special and intimate...

Well, except for the part where she faked it after only like, five minutes.

A fast and dirty round one was for me.

A slow and sweet round two was for her. We got all our clothes off, went at the foreplay like we knew what the hell we were doing, and then made love like morning would never come.

* * *

"You know I'm gonna ask," I said. I felt too relaxed to move a muscle. After sex I'm about as even keeled as I get. I had no doubt that in five minutes, I'd pass out cold.

Her head settled against my shoulder and she hugged me a little tighter around the chest, her bare body pressing up against my equally bare side. It was a small bed. She'd practically have to sleep on top of me—if she slept at all that night...

"Hmm, I know," she whispered back, absently letting her palm travel in slow circles across my chest and stomach.

"So—what? You're gonna make me ask?"

"You're better than him, Bobby. I'd almost forgotten how good it can be," she reassured softly, turning her face into me so she could press a kiss against my shoulder.

I smirked, squeezing her tight with the arm I had around her. That was exactly what I'd wanted to hear, but I didn't have to admit it. "Yeah, well, that's a given. I just wanted to know if it was good for you—jumping back in with me so fast."

"Hmm," she said, propping her head up on a fist. Her fingertips tapped in a row down my sternum, like she was thinking about it real hard. She squinted a little into the distance, and I started to realize that whatever she gave for an answer, she wouldn't be pulling my chain. "It's hard to explain. I didn't exactly come over here with the intention of _this_ happening. I just—I think it's spending time in this place, in this house... Trading smartass remarks with you and your brothers, making popcorn for movie watching, being with you tonight... It's all part of some bigger thing that I remember from a long time ago. With your mom gone, everything's different, but it still feels sort of like...coming home."

She'd nailed it. She'd managed to put into words what I couldn't.

I'd been gone so long, seen so many bad things, and suffered so much guilt that I'd forgotten how good life could be back at home. It creeped me out at first that the house hadn't changed. It put me off because I _knew_ why mom didn't touch our rooms or our things, even if Jack and Angel couldn't figure it out. She left everything the same so that when we _did_ come home, we'd recognize it as the place where we grew up and remember that no matter how far we'd gone or what we'd done, there would always be a familiar home for us to come back to.

She knew we'd all come back one day, and I felt so fucking guilty that her death was the reason we finally did.

"Move in with me," I whispered, looking up at Tonia from my back. It's quite possible my eyes even did a little begging for me.

She shook her head, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I can't. Inevitably you'll find out I can't afford to pay rent on the apartment I'm in now—an unfortunate side effect of my recent divorce—and you'll get mad because you'll think I used you for a place to live. No matter how old you get, you're still the Bobby Mercer I grew up with. You've got your pride. No girl is ever going to use you as a rebound guy."

Normally she'd be right. I was a pro hockey player for a while, my name was still whispered in fear deep in the dark alleys of my neighborhood--I had an identity, a reputation to uphold. Never in a million years would I let some bitch play me, make me look like a sucker. This just felt different. Tonia wasn't Sofi. She didn't need a guy to survive. If she didn't live with me, she'd find a place of her own, someway, somehow. She'd always been that way. That quality attracted me to her at an unusually young age in ways that pretty faces and curvy figures never did. I think it stems from having seen so much bad in my life. Even at sixteen I could appreciate a girl at peace with herself even through the most awkward of ages.

"So what if you are using me? You need a place to sleep, Jack needs a therapist, and I need you to keep me out of trouble so I can take care of everybody."

She grinned down at me, her smile taking on a rare look of genuine affection. Sometimes she'd keep her expression bland for so long I'd start to wonder if she was capable of feelings at all. Especially feelings for me. "No one can keep you out of trouble, Bobby," she whispered, leaning down to kiss me softly on the lips.

I let my hands come to rest on her hips and gently squeezed, letting my eyes fall shut for the duration of that moment. When I opened them again she was looking at me, still smiling, her nose mere inches from mine. Others might've disagreed, but to me she looked so beautiful in the pale moonlight I wanted to take a picture of her and keep it forever.

"Just give me a reason," I said.


	8. Breakfast

AN: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! If you have the chance, please go check out the story that runs parallel to this one called 'Cutting Loose.' It branches off in another direction from the prologue of this story. I'm going to try to play the two stories off each other in subtle ways and I'd love some feedback on how I'm doing.

Thanks so much again!

* * *

I woke up in the early morning when she tried to sneak out of bed. I don't know how long I'd slept—probably not more than a few hours.

"Hey, where're _you_ going?" I asked, my throat so dry it felt like sandpaper. I attempted to sit up, but sore muscles forced me to stay put. I groaned, loudly.

She smirked at me, pulling on jeans over her underwear. "I guess you really haven't gotten laid since before prison. Welcome to sex in your late twenties, hon," she said, her calm voice staying my impending humiliation and the cussing fit that would've resulted. I always liked that about her. She could make the most embarrassing things seem like a natural course of life with a few simple words. Granted, we'd just gotten back together, so at the moment I liked everything about her, especially the things I'd missed while doing time.

I grimaced, shifting slightly as I felt a spasm start in my lower back. "Shit, I thought I was in shape. How the hell did we _survive_ the morning afters for so many years?"

She snickered, stooping down to pick up her shirt and socks. "Usually we had a bigger bed, for starters," she said, busying herself with pulling on her clothes while I watched.

A silence passed between us; uncomfortable for me, probably unnoticed by her. "Is this the part where you walk out the door and I don't see you for a month?" I asked.

She gave me a funny look, but her features soon cleared as she remembered who she was talking to. She rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Jesus, Bobby, do your brothers know you're so insecure?" she teased. "I just have to go home and change before work. You should go back to sleep since you'll be at the bar late tonight. I'll see you when I see you and we'll talk about working out a rehabilitation program for Jack. I've got to go to the library tonight and pick up some books, do some freshening up on the subject."

"I'll meet you at the library for a while," I said. I get like that sometimes. I'll hit a certain mood with a girl where, for a while, I get really clingy, often followed by a period where I push that same girl away.

I'm sure if a psychiatrist could go back far enough into my childhood they'd be able to explain my behavior in Freudian terms, pinpoint specific events that fucked me up. Fear of abandonment coupled with fear of dependence—they put that on my fucking medical record when I was nine years old.

Bad shit happened to me when I was a kid, now I do bad shit to other people. It's as simple as that. New girls get sucked in to my games when they first get involved with me, but Tonia knows all my tricks. She knows how to handle me. If I pulled the worst of the shit I do to Sofi on Tonia, she wouldn't even blink, nevertheless fly off the handle.

Having at last collected all her clothing, and put most of it on, Tonni sat down on the edge of my bed and leaned over to playfully bite my ear. Neither of us were big on kissing first thing in the morning, but apparently biting was okay.

"You're an attention whore, Bobby," she informed me, giggling, her small hand resting on my bare shoulder, squeezing affectionately. "You've got to have everyone focused on you every minute of the day."

"That mean we're on for the library?" I asked, my eyes shifting so I could look at her out of the corner of my eye.

She smiled, rising and moving out of reach before I had a chance to pull her back into bed next to me. "Meet me in the nonfiction section tomorrow at six. If you're there tonight, I won't get anything done. You're not just a whore, you're a distraction!" she playfully chastised, her eyes glinting.

"Oh yeah?" I called after her slowly retreating backside as she walked out my bedroom door. "If I'm a distraction, what the hell do you call your _ass_, girl?"

* * *

"Man, do you have any idea how wrong it was for you to sleep with Tonni like that?" Angel asked me a few minutes later at breakfast. Tonia had since left for home, and upon hearing the rest of the house stirring, I'd dressed and come down to eat with my brothers.

"Leave it alone, man," Jack said, reaching across the table for the milk to pour on his cereal. "I couldn't even hear them going at it. Whenever you've got Sofi over, you guys always keep me awake, even when I'm trying to sleep on the couch."

I glared at Jack, wondering why I needed his support on the issue. The Mercer house was _not _a fucking democracy. Ma made that clear the first day we walked in the door, and I'd be damned if that trend wasn't going to continue with me as the new dictator. "What I do doesn't need defending, little sister," I said, taking a big bite of my toast and peanut butter.

He stuck his ring-less tongue out at me. "I wasn't defending _you_, asshole, I was criticizing Angel. Does everything absolutely have to be about you, Bobby?"

"Yes," I deadpanned, giving him my best 'duh' expression.

Angel started to snicker. Jack glared at me, shaking his head. "Anyway, my point _was,_ you guys can do whatever the hell you want, as long as _I_ don't hear it."

"Attention whore," Angel mimicked in my general direction. Since they were both familiar with Tonia's bedroom nickname for me, both of them giggled.

"You shouldn't have done it in mom's room though, man. That's just wrong," Jack added, bending down to keep his mouth as close to his cereal bowl as possible.

"Exactly!" Angel quickly agreed, pointing to Jack. "Think about what you did in mama's bed, Bobby. Even Cracker Jack knows that's just disrespectful. When I was a little kid I used to go sleep in there with her during thunderstorms; and you can't get on my ass for admitting it, because she said you did the same thing after you saw _Jaws_ for the first time."

Okay, so they had me there. I didn't even think of it that way, about banging a girl in Ma's room, but now it felt kind of odd, just thinking about it... "So where exactly was I _supposed _to fuck her, genius?" I said, not missing a beat.

"Jack's room," Angel quickly stated.

Jack pretended to cough. "Angel's room."

"Dude, if he did her in my room, where the hell was I supposed to sleep?" Angel asked, his face contorting into a 'what're you smoking' look.

Did I ever mention that out of the three of us, Angel always had the least patience for Jack? I think it's because he expected to always remain the baby of the Mercer household. Then Jack showed up one day and Ang became an instant middle child. Suddenly, Jerry and I could beat on him all we wanted without serious repercussions. Worst still, Ma let Jack get away with murder compared to the rest of us. Angel had the hardest time accepting that fact.

It's also entirely possible that they lost some of their love for each other when they shared a bedroom for a number of years before Jerry moved out; but hey, what do I know? I'm high enough on the family food chain that I don't give a damn if my baby brothers don't always like each other.

"You could sleep on the floor," Jack replied easily, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "You fuck Sofi on the floor, so it can't be that big a stretch. Besides, I know you like to watch," he said, grinning unabashedly.

Angel punched Jack hard on his good shoulder. The kid scooped up some cereal and milk on his spoon and flung it in retaliation.

I only shook my head, wondering how I could best torment Angel with 'you like to watch' jokes. Apparently they riled him up like few things could... "Hey, ladies, save it for the mud pit, all right?"

Instead of heeding me, Angel got out of his seat and put Jack in a headlock, pulling his shirt up over his head, hockey style, and smacking him hard on the back, leaving a big red handprint on his pale skin. Jack launched himself out of his chair, wrapping Ang up around the waist and taking them both to the floor.

I got up fast, pulling Jack off our brother and dragging him clear, my arm wrapped around his waist. "I can't believe you idiots sometimes!" I snarled, helping Jackie back to his overturned chair. Stiff muscles throughout my body complained about the physical exertion. Not that I'd let _them_ know about it.

"Ah, come on, Bobby, I just got the jump on him," the kid complained after he stopped struggling. I got him sat down again so I could look him over, secretly relieved that he didn't seem any worse for the wear. I ruffled up his hair, letting out a breath I'd been holding.

"That's not all you were about to get if big brother hadn't saved you," Angel said as he picked himself up off the floor, chuckling at Jack's sudden bout of feistiness. Apparently I was the only one who realized how far Jackie-boy could get set back if his knee got fucked up again. I didn't plan on carrying the fairy around the house for the rest of my life.

"Yeah, your big sister planned to molest you after wrestling you to the floor," I said, turning the evil eye on Angel. We'd have to talk later about _not_ sending Jack back to the hospital. We were already up to our asses in debt.

"You're the only child molester in this house, Bobby," Angel shot back, still showing me them unnaturally white teeth of his. He picked up his coat off the back of his chair and put it on, picking his lunch up off the counter and preparing to leave for work. "So, when can Sofi move back in? Since you've got a girlfriend now, it's not like you can justify throwing my fiancé out."

"Sure I can, Jarhead. Tonia's going to rehabilitate Jackie, get him on his feet again. She's going to take care of him some evenings, give the two of us a little more freedom to breathe."

His weight settled back a little and he brought his hands up, acting like he couldn't believe it. "Whoa, so I'll get to spend nights with my girl?"

"Whatever you want. I don't give a shit so long as La Vida Loca stays the hell out of my house."

Jack looked at Angel and then at me, his eyes having widened just a bit. "What about what I want?" he asked, sounding absolutely pathetic.

We both stared back at him dully until he bowed his head to look at the floor. "Fine," he groaned, attempting to get to his feet and nearly falling. Angel stepped forward to help him, but Jack violently shoved him off, gripping the counter for support.

He still didn't have enough muscle in his arms and legs to support his own weight for long—so after a few hops he let himself sink to the floor and crawled out to the living room, using only three limbs, including his bad arm. I didn't like watching him do that, but I wasn't stupid enough to try to help the kid. Not when he was _that_ cranky.

I turned to Angel, glaring.

"What?" he said, his face a mix between confusion and innocence. Apparently we were equally clueless on the matter. "I don't even know what his problem is, Bobby, how the fuck can it be _my_ fault?"

I glared a little longer, knowing he was right. "I can't believe you like to watch," I finally said, returning to my seat to finish my breakfast.


	9. Music Lessons

AN: Sorry about the wait and the short chapter! I promise the next one will be longer. This part just seemed like it should stand by itself as a chapter. Thanks again so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm eternally grateful for your encouragement, and slightly addicted to it... lol:-)

* * *

"Man, I don't know what his problem is," I bitched to Tonia the next evening. Jack was still in the middle of a huge hissy fit with both me and Angel. We couldn't figure out how exactly we'd managed to hurt his little feelings, but by then we were both sick of his attitude. I'd tried to patch things up with him the day before, after letting him sulk for a few hours. I walked into the living room and asked him if he wanted something to eat. He just sat there, playing his guitar and ignoring me, looking mad, his eyes rimmed red.

He refused to eat the entire day and, as much as I hated to admit it, that worried me. The kid couldn't afford to lose any more weight. When Angel got home from work we talked it over and decided our only options were to force feed him or send him to Jerry's.

I stormed out to the garage to find something to use for a funnel--Angel called Jerry and told him to get his ass over there before Jack ended up with a tube down his throat or worse. Jerry came and picked him up, took him home for the night. Later Jer called and said the girls cheered Jackie up enough to eat. Cracker even taught Dani a short little song on the piano, had her play it for her parents in a mini-concert.

Meanwhile, back at our place, Angel bolted to spend time with Sofi, and to get away from me. I sulked, angry and tired, eating dinner alone in a dark kitchen before finally heading off to work. I roughed up a couple of drunks far more than necessary while throwing them out of the bar, but it still didn't make me feel any better.

Damn fairy.

Sometimes I'll go too far when I make fun of him, and he'll get pissed for a while. Usually after an hour or two he bounces back and acts like himself again. I never had to do much more than pat him on the back or ruffle his hair before he'd forgive me, start following me around again like a lost puppy.

"I mean, I love the kid, but he's seriously wearing on my nerves right now. Does he have any idea the shit Angel and I have gone through taking care of him this winter?"

Sitting across from me, Tonia arched an eyebrow, letting her chin rest on her lightly clasped hands while she examined me. She had a number of books spread out in front of her. She'd been attempting to read them, in spite of my presence. "This is one of those moments, Tough Guy. You're smart, but you're not _thinking_. Jack's extremely empathetic, unlike you, which means he can probably pick up on your moods even through all your bullshit. He knows you're tired of doing everything for him. He's probably resentful that he can't do anything for himself. Besides, I never said I was moving in, and I didn't say I'd be the one helping him with his training exercises either."

I gave her a blank look. "What do you mean? Why wouldn't you help him? Why not move in? That's what would help him the most."

"Would it?" she asked, cutting me off before I could really get started. "I think Jack's scared of me moving in. I think he's afraid of me helping him. I think he wants _you_ _guys_ to do it."

"Why?"

She shrugged, speaking softly, "He suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, Bobby. Why do you think? When was the last time you saw him initiate the bare minimum of what could be considered intimate contact with another person? He trusts you guys, but I'm not one of his brothers. I'm an older woman with a potential agenda. Do you think it'd be a good idea to leave me alone with him? Do you remember what happened the time I tried to baby-sit him by myself when he was eleven?"

"Oh, yeah," I admitted dumbly. I'd almost forgotten about that. It happened during one of my road games. I'd only heard about it later.

Tonia came over to baby-sit for a few hours while mom was out, and Jack locked himself in the bathroom, hypervenalating himself into a trip to the hospital. For some reason I'd never really associated the incident with the fact that Ma left him home alone with a stranger. I just thought he'd been a ticking bomb that finally went off.

"You know what you should do?" she said. I waited impatiently until she continued, my fingertips tapping a broken rhythm on the table top. Tonia's the type of person who likes to think about things before she says them. I used to snap at her once in a while when she'd take too long to finish a sentence. She knows it drives me nuts. "You should try slowly introducing him to new situations with people he doesn't know and see if you can ease him into a more open comfort zone. At least, I think that's what it said in that book... Or maybe it was that one," she said, mostly to herself, pointing at two different books before shrugging and giving up.

"How long would _that_ take?" I asked, rubbing one palm over my face. I was starting to feel bored and restless. It always made me fidgety when I had a problem I couldn't solve with a gun or a few punches.

She shrugged. "I really have _no_ idea. Probably the rest of his life..."

"What?" I groaned.

She grinned at my response, closing up the books in front of her, preparing to leave. "No one said it'd be easy. Besides, do you have anything better to do than help out your little brother?"

I stared at her, letting the question sit out there for a moment.

"Bobby?"

"I'm thinking about it!"


	10. Drunken Humor

AN: Sorry it took a while. School :-p Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys really are the best!

* * *

I got home late—or early, whatever. Jack had fallen asleep in the recliner again, and Tonia dozed on the couch. She'd said she'd be over to have Angel work with Jack on exercises that would strengthen the muscles around each of his injuries. Apparently she'd attempted to wait up for me.

I scooped her up and carried her upstairs to my room, a feat that, to my relief, I could still accomplish without hurting myself. Feeling sore after trying to share a twin sized bed with another person had definitely made me feel old.

Ton woke up just long enough to help me tuck her in, and then she fell asleep again. I returned to the living room with a pillow and blanket, making up a place for myself on the couch. I noticed Jack watching me groggily. Before I could say anything he turned in the chair so his back faced me and pulled his blanket tighter around himself, shutting me out.

I swore, picking up one of the couch pillows and chucking it hard at the other chair in the room. He didn't acknowledge my temper fit, didn't even flinch. I wondered briefly when he'd settled down enough to stop reacting when I got pissed off. For so many years he'd drawn away from any of us when we got angry, even if we weren't angry with him. Sometimes, when he was really young, he'd gone as far as curling up in a ball on the floor and covering his ears with his hands. Thinking back, that might've been one of the reasons I started calling him 'fairy.' I made it clear to him that real men faced their problems head on, and only fairies drew away from them.

I guess I figured I could make him mad enough to not be afraid anymore.

Maybe I'd made more progress with him than I'd thought.

I took a step or two closer to my little brother, half sitting down on the narrow arm of the chair. I thought about touching his side, letting him know I was there, but I held back, figuring he'd try to hit me.

Instead, I hung my head and sighed, trying to think of the right thing to say... "I didn't get there in time to stop this from happening to you, but I'm here now, ain't I? If I didn't want to stick around and take care of you, don't you think I would've taken off by now? I love you, man. You're my brother. I don't give a fuck how much you hate it that Angel and I have to take care of you. It ain't fucking optional for any of us because _I say_ it isn't fucking optional. We are a family, Jack--"

"I don't need..."

"Bullshit! You need us to do everything for you, Jackie! Doesn't change the fact that if I spend _years_ hauling your fairy ass around this house it would probably be the most significant thing I'll ever do in my entire life. So starting right now, you're gonna suck it up. I don't want to hear no more of this bullshit, fairy-ass bitching about _what you want._"

"You shouldn't take care of me," he said real low, still not turning to look at me.

"Why, you think you don't deserve it?" I said. "You know, this family's only big enough for one undeserving degenerate fuckup, and that's me."

"So why are you trying to recruit your girlfriend to baby-sit me? So you guys can get away from me? I never get to take a break from you, and I can't help with anything, either. I know how far in debt you all are over my medical bills. It's not like I haven't tried to do stuff, strengthen up my knee when you guys weren't watching me from _two feet_ away."

"You gotta do it right, Cracker Jack. There's ways to rehab injuries I don't know nothing about. But Tonia does know. I want her to help you get better. I wanna fuck her, too; but mostly I want her here for you. Maybe when you're stronger and you don't feel so helpless, you can stop feeling sorry for yourself and start cooking again. Because if I have to eat one more of Angel's hamburgers—I swear to God I'll gonna cut my wrists."

He finally started to chuckle. "They are pretty bad," he admitted, agreeing with me for the first time in two days.

I grinned, nudging him with an elbow. "Ten bucks says if La Vida Loca ever gets the Jarhead to set a date, they both kick it from food poisoning within a week of the honeymoon."

He turned onto his back, his left forearm coming up to rest behind his head. He tried to muffle it by biting his lip, but he ended up breaking down in fit of laughter.

"What?" I asked, chuckling at how stupid he looked.

Jack grinned. "Twenty says he cheats on the honeymoon and doesn't live long enough to die from food poisoning."

I thought about that, trying not to look over at Jack. I knew that if I saw him grinning I'd go down right along with him. Thing is, I couldn't resist.

One glance was all it took. At first it was quiet, not much more than low snickers. Soon, we were trying to stifle our howling any way we could.

* * *

"So, our bassist was totally tripping balls on acid. I mean, this sucker was _gone._ We got back to his apartment from the club and he didn't know who we were, he didn't know where he was, the fucker didn't even know his own fucking name. We put him down on the street completely naked with this great big fucking sign on him that said, 'Will Eat Pussy for Panties, Will Wear Panties for Pussy.'"

I let my forehead rest on my arm, almost crying from laughing so hard. We'd gone at trading stories for hours, getting completely wasted. For the first time since mom died the Mercer house had not a drop of alcohol left in it because Jackie and I drank it _all _that night.

A gigantic beer can pyramid sat between us, right in the middle of the table. We'd built that sucker after finishing off a bottle of tequila La Vida Loca must've left behind when she moved out.

"Any girls try to anti up?" I finally managed.

Jack held up three fingers. That got us going all over again.

Angel's entrance to the kitchen slowed our momentum momentarily, but upon seeing our more-than-slightly-pissed-off marine of a brother in his _bathrobe_, we shared a conspiratorial look and then continued on stronger than ever at his expense.

"Somethin' seriously wrong with the white people in this family," he growled sleepily, heading over to get a glass from the cupboard.

"Theys look like nipples," Jack mocked in a sing-song voice, much to our brother's displeasure.

"Shut up, Angel," I snickered, my forehead resting on my palm. "Have a fucking beer."

"Yeah, shut up, Angel," Jack parroted, lounging back in his chair and killing the last of our booze. "_Have a fucking beer_."

"Looks like you boys drank it all," he commented, eyeing our impressive monument to Budweiser.

I sat up straight suddenly, looking right at him, all business. "Listen, Angel!" I snapped, then paused, having forgotten what I was going to say. I think it had to do with him marrying Sofi at some point in the future, but I really couldn't be sure.

"Yes, Bobby?" he prompted sarcastically, leaning toward me in a farce of actually wanting to hear what my drunk, white ass had to say.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Jack supplied, raising his hand, still kicked back and laughing like an idiot.

I think that's about the point when I fell out of my chair. I hardly even noticed. If it hadn't been for the view change, I probably wouldn't have noticed.

I rolled from my side onto my back, cracking up.

I saw Angel's feet approach the other side of the table, heard him address the fairy, "What, you think you're in elementary school, Jackie-poo? You gotta raise your hand to go potty? Man... I can't believe this. I _so_ do not want to carry your drunken ass upstairs!" he bitched, even though we all knew he'd do it in the end.

If he didn't, he'd get to clean up the mess in the morning before he went to work...

Jack snickered. "I could piss outside."

"_Piss outside_. You pull this shit again I'll make you piss _blood _outside. See how you like that," Angel said, sounding more than slightly annoyed. I could hear him helping Jack up and throwing him over one shoulder.

"Hey, Angel," Jack said, still chortling.

"**What**?"

"Where'd Bobby go?" he asked, his voice fading toward the stairs.

"Fshh. The devil finally took his ass away," Angel grumbled. "Bastard's probably takin' over hell as we speak."

"Damn straight!" I yelled after him—right before I started to black out.


	11. Feeling Sick

AN: Sorry it took so long. Midterms have taken over my life! Grr.

* * *

I woke up lying face down on the kitchen floor with the sensation of a wad of cotton having lodged in my throat and a spike getting hammered through my brain.

To make matters worse, my cheek rested right where we'd spilled beer the night before, and my skin stuck to the linoleum when I raised my head...

It took a lot of cussing and groaning, but I finally managed to get my ass back in the chair I'd fallen out of. To my slight shock, aspirin and water waited for me on the table (probably Tonia's doing), right next to a bottle of vodka and a clean shot glass (Angel). I figured I'd probably puke if I went for the quick and easy hangover remedy, so I picked up the aspirin and downed it, refilling the glass at the sink twice and emptying it each time.

I climbed up the stairs, finding Jack unconscious in his bed, also face down. Angel must've dropped him there after taking him to the bathroom. I thought about waking him up, but decided he didn't have to share my pain—yet.

I walked into the bathroom, took a long, long piss, and then winced when I saw myself in the mirror while washing my hands. I looked like shit. Serious shit. My cheek sported red lines where it had rested against the kitchen floor and little pieces of...stuff...from the floor had gotten stuck in my facial hair.

Instead of spending hours picking the sticky substance off my face, I decided to just shave it off. I opened up the medicine cabinet and grabbed Angel's can of gel over Jack's cheap ass shaving cream. I paused briefly, examining the bottle of extraordinarily expensive brand name gel I held in my hand, and I wondered if I'd picked the wrong brother to shoot gay jokes at.

I shrugged, grabbing a razor and the sheers Angel used to shave his head, mumbling to myself, "Thirty bucks says Loco Bitcho drives the Jarhead queer before their second anniversary—assuming he doesn't hang himself before their first..."

* * *

The knocking started while I was still in the shower, washing out my freshly cut hair. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but then the doorbell rang. 

"Fuck. JACK! Get the fucking door!" I shouted.

Besides the fact that he couldn't make it down the stairs on his own—for all I knew he wasn't even awake yet.

Fucking fairy.

I hopped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. I attempted to shake out my hair like a dog, having forgotten there wasn't enough left to shake out. I would've run down the stairs, but I didn't feel _that_ good yet. My stomach still felt tied in knots, even if my headache had abated some.

I opened the door, almost relieved to find Camille standing there, Amelia at her side. Hey, if someone had to see me hung over and half naked, better it be family.

"Bobby?" Camille asked, looking more than slightly disconcerted at my appearance.

"What?" I said, looking down at my towel.

She smiled nervously, but the look was genuine, it reached her eyes. "Nothing, I almost didn't recognize you. I didn't know you could clean up so nice..."

I shrugged, my wet body starting to shake in the forty degree air. Even my teeth started to chatter. "Yeah, uh, why don't you come in—where it's warm," I invited, moving to let them pass.

"I'm really sorry," Camille said, turning to look over her shoulder at me while I closed the door. She scooted Amelia ahead of her, straight toward the kitchen. I followed in their stead, still shaking. "Amelia's sick, and usually I'd stay home with her, but I've got a meeting I just can't miss this afternoon. I tried to call you guys, but no one picked up the phone. Jerry told me to just bring her over."

Oh shit, was she asking _me_ to baby-sit? I hadn't done that since...Jack... Okay, I had no excuse. "Yeah, I'll watch her. No problem," I said, picking at my short, half frozen hair. If I came off sounding grumpy, it was because of the hang over, I swear.

She smiled, setting Amelia's backpack down on the table. "Thank you so much, you have no idea what this means to me."

I did, actually. It meant that suddenly I'd become my brother's go-to babysitter. I hadn't done anything crazy for a while, so maybe Jer figured I'd turned over a new leaf. Unless I wanted to become a full time mommy to both Jack and my nieces, I'd better get into some serious trouble, fast...

* * *

Turned out, Jack didn't feel too hot that morning either. Surprise, surprise. By the time I pulled on some sweats, got the fairy in and out of the bathroom, and went back downstairs, Amelia was already sitting in front of the TV, a box of Kleenex glued to her hand. 

"Is Uncle Jackie sick too?" she asked, sniffling pathetically before blowing her nose on a fresh Kleenex.

I smirked, grabbing the wicker basket trashcan from the corner of the living room and setting it close to where she sat on the couch before I settled in next to her. "Yeah, Uncle Jack's sick too."

"Does he have the flu?"

"Nope. He's got fairy syndrome. Don't worry, it isn't contagious," I said softly, slouching down so I could comfortably wrap an arm around her shoulders. I put my feet up on the table, slowly starting to doze off while she watched Sesame Street.

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Hmm?" I groaned. Being awake made me hurt all over. If I could just sleep a few more hours, I'd feel fine...

"Why aren't you married?" she asked shyly, her voice sounding nasally—a result of plugged sinuses.

I opened one eye and looked at her. Her round face tilted up to look at me. I was a little surprised she actually asked me a direct, personal question. Daniela let her mouth get her in trouble sometimes, but so far as I knew, Amelia simply didn't speak to big, scary people, like her uncles. I smiled, hoping to encourage her to talk to me in the future. "Should I be?" I asked, sounding a little like I was teasing her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Daniela said if you did get married, we might have a little cousin to play with. She wanted a little girl cousin, but I want a boy cousin."

"Yeah? What do you know about little cousins? Huh? Where exactly do little cousins come from?"

She smiled, looking cute. Suddenly I wished Tonia was there so she could get a load of this kid working me. "From Santa," she said, sounding indefinite.

"From Santa? Did your daddy tell you that?" I asked.

"No."

"Good, because babies don't come from Santa. I'm pretty sure they're in the Easter Bunny's department." I yawned, using one fist to cover my face. I glanced over at her, wondering if she'd swallow that particular line of bullshit. It occurred to me that I could seriously make Jerry and Camille regret entrusting me with their daughter for any length of time.

Amelia shrugged, seeming to not care either way. She laid her head against my side and continued to watch her show, sniffling occasionally.


	12. Waking Up

AN: This chapter sort of cuts off right before a flashback because it just would've been too long. I'll try to get the flashback posted soon, since the rest of this scene comes right after that.

* * *

I got up after a couple hours of watching kiddie shows and let Amelia stretch out, using the pillow and blanket typically reserved for Jack to take a nap. I'd decided that I hadn't heard enough noise from my little brother's room and it was time to go check on him. I hadn't gotten any more real sleep, but I'd drifted for a good half hour with my eyes closed, so I felt decent.

Jack's eyes opened a little when I sat down next to him on the bed. He groaned, pulling his blanket over his head. Usually when I don't feel good it's nasty for other people to live with me, but that day I felt strangely—responsible.

"I like your hair," I said.

He threw back the blanket briefly, squinting at me. "What the fuck did you say?"

"Said I like your hair. You think I could get mine to do that whole orderly disarray thing if I used a little gel, maybe a blow dryer? Hey, maybe you can help me. Get started on your career as a stylist."

"Fuck you, Bobby," he groaned, pulling the blanket back over his head. About two seconds later he threw it off again, staring at me. "You cut your hair," he stated dumbly, staring at my head.

I grinned. "You didn't notice earlier?"

"Earlier?"

"I carried your punk ass to the bathroom."

"Earlier?"

I grabbed his pillow and made to smother him with it, holding him down for a good ten seconds while he struggled before letting him breathe again. He coughed a little, groaning when he tried to roll away from me.

"Don't, Bobby, my knee's killing me. I don't know what the hell Tonia did to me with those exercises, but it hurts like hell."

"Don't, Bobby," I mimicked. "Jesus, Jack, you sound just like a little girl."

"Yeah, you're right, I do," he grumbled into his reclaimed pillow. "You never know, maybe today I'll come out of the closet and admit that I'm a flaming homosexual. Or, hey, even more likely—the sun might explode."

"I'll still love you anyway, Jackie. You just have to admit it to yourself," I snickered.

"Yeah, I see that now," he said, his low voice still rusty from sleep. "Okay, Bobby, you win. I'm gay. I've known since I was thirteen, when I used to watch you play basketball without a shirt on and I'd get hard. I think I was fifteen when I decided that I really wanted you to fuck me. When you went away and it just got worse, so I started jerking off every night, thinking about you..."

"Jack, don't make me go get the gas can," I warned, entirely un-amused. Yes, I'm homophobic. Go ahead, put me in jail, see if I care. I learned to be homophobic in prison. Before that I didn't care because I didn't know anyone stupid enough to try forcing shit on me.

He grinned, his eyes floating shut. "You quit calling me fairy and I promise I won't hump your leg in public."

I never thought the day would come, but it looked like Cracker Jack finally figured out a way to dissuade me from humiliating him.

"No deal. I know you won't do it. You like the attention too much. That's why you act like it bothers you when I make fun of you."

"You're a jerk," he informed me, turning over once again. "Why don't you go light something on fire and quit bugging me?"

I shrugged, picking up a cheap, plastic lighter off his dresser. I spun the wheel and watched the flame, letting its beauty draw me in.

It doesn't take people long to figure out I'm a pyro. I mean, yeah, I was a hardnosed kid who liked to smash people's faces in when Ma got her hands on me—but I was only ten, and technically I was still manageable at that age. The reason I couldn't find a home was because I had a well documented history of setting things on fire. I burned down the garage that belonged to my original foster family, I set a fire in another boy's bed at the group home, and no matter how they tried—no one could keep me from getting my hands on a flame source.

Up until I was eighteen, matches and lighters simply weren't allowed in the Mercer household. Ma used to pat me down every time I walked in the door. As a teenager I could've walked into the house with my face smashed in, blood on my clothes, a twelve gauge in one hand, a fifth of bourbon in the other, and a dime bag sticking out of my pants—but I would've only caught hell if I had a pack of matches on me.

Maybe that's why I never really got into smoking. I never had the opportunity to light up 'cause Ma always watched me like a hawk. Jack started up sometime after I left. Since he'd gotten shot I'd willed him to quit. I mean, it's not like the fairy could skip merrily down to the store and buy himself a pack of fags anymore. Someone had to buy them for him. I don't smoke and Angel quit while he was in the service.

That means Jack's shit outta luck.

The lighter burned out, probably because I'd played with it before. I opted to put it in my pocket instead of chucking it in the trash. Later I'd probably be standing around on break, bored as fuck, and get all excited to find it. I'd probably get pissed when I remembered it was burned out.

Jack lay facing me, his head still heavy on his pillow. His ocean blue eyes drooped, but if he hadn't shut them yet he was probably awake for the day.

"Do you remember when I first came here, Bobby?" he asked. "Like, the first _day_ I got here?"

"Yeah. You flipped shit every time a board creaked behind you. First time I saw ya, I couldn't tell if you were a boy or a girl with them big eyes and that mop of hair. You hung on to Ma for dear life every time one of us walked in the room. That one girl, Lia—she lived here then because Ma hadn't placed her yet. She scared the piss out of you too."

"Did Ma do the same thing to you she used to do to me?" he asked. "Hold you on the floor when you freaked out until you calmed down?"

I shrugged, getting up off his bed and settling in a nearby chair, putting my socked feet up where I'd just been sitting, letting one ankle come to rest on top of the other.

"Yeah, she did it with me for a while, when I first got here. I caught on a lot quicker than you did and she only had to do it constantly for a couple weeks, then only periodically after that until I got too big. The only one of us she didn't ever use it on was Jerry. She might've done it with him before I came here, but I doubt it. She got him when he was still a baby and he had all them problems with his legs and spine when he was a kid. His behavioral problems weren't half bad compared to his medical problems, at least not until he was a teenager."

We were talking about mom's method of dealing with young kids when they threw fits. I'm not talking about some little huffy temper tantrum like Dani or Amelia might pull. I'm talking the kind of fit where a kid screams, bites, kicks, punches, and does as much damage to themselves and everyone around them as they can. Some people might've considered Ma's technique cruelty, because it involved complete restraint of the errant child, but there's no doubt in my mind that it taught us all discipline. She reprogrammed us, in a sense.

Now that I'm slightly worldlier, I think I can compare what she did to us with the methods some people use to train young horses and dogs. If you put an animal on the ground and make it completely helpless, the animal will learn that you're the one in control; and when you're in control, they _aren't—_but at the same time, that animal learns to trust you won't let any harm come to them.

I don't know if that tells you what kind of kids we were, but it should. We were pretty wild.

By the time Jack came along I'd already become proficient in the Mercer brand of discipline. Jerry and I'd practiced on Angel plenty (sometimes when he didn't need it, ha ha), helping Ma out so she didn't have to do it alone. Jackie turned out to be a harder subject to work with, because he absolutely freaked whenever one of us touched him. It took him months to start settling down.

I still remember the first time it actually seemed like I'd made progress with him using mom's technique. It took so many months that it felt like I'd really made a huge accomplishment when he finally let his safety rest in my hands.

That's saying something too, because I'm the first to admit I haven't done a whole lot of meaningful shit in my life.


	13. Back Then

AN: This starts off in the flashback and then returns to the present time after the page break. If anyone gets confused, let me know.

* * *

I worked nights back then too, at a local factory. It didn't seem so bad at nineteen as it does now. It was the off-season for my minor league team, so during the day I stayed home and slept—babysitting Jack and Angel after school.

One day Ma was late getting home from work, Angel had football practice, and Jerry—probably told me some lie about homework he needed to meet up with friends to work on.

Anyway, it was me, myself, and Jackie for dinner—except, we had no dinner. I ordered a pizza and when the delivery guy came Jack caught a glimpse of him while creeping down the stairs and totally flipped out. I'm serious, the kid ran up to his room, screaming his lungs out, and slammed the door behind him. To this day I have no idea why. Stupid things always used to set him off—so it didn't surprise me at the time.

I paid the guy, grabbed the box, shut the door, dropped the box, and ran upstairs after him, kicking in the door of the room Jack and I shared. The kid had found my pocketknife and frantically slashed at his own arm. It was by far the worst action he'd ever taken during a fit. I wrestled him down, took the knife away, and then held him face down on the floor for over an hour.

I ain't kidding—for over an _hour_ the kid squirmed, screaming bloody murder. Back then I only served as a temporary restrainer. No matter how long I held him down, Jack never calmed until Ma got there and I left the room.

Finally, after an hour and a whole lot of restraint on my part to keep from cussing him out or worse, he finally quit struggling and laid still.

"You ready to get up?" I asked after a several minutes of peaceful silence.

He nodded, the silver lines of tear trails standing out against his red cheeks. His eyes were completely unfocused, but at least he seemed able to hear me, and willing to respond.

I let him up, slowly gathering his undersized body in my arms and sitting down on my bed with him on my lap. See, restraint is only half the formula for behavior reprogramming. The other half is the quiet time afterward when you hold the kid tight, let them know they're safe, and talk about how they fucked up. If it hadn't worked on me when I was a kid, I would've thought it was total bullshit.

What can I say? Ma was a genius. If she'd written a book we'd all be millionaires now.

I squeezed the kid tight to my chest and his body relaxed. For the first time since he'd become my brother he started acting like he trusted me. He wouldn't look me directly in the eye, but he let his cheek rest against my shoulder and picked at a loose string from the collar of my t-shirt.

"Jackie, you know you're safe here, don't you?"

He nodded, studying the string intently.

"So you don't have to get so upset when you're scared. You can come to us and tell us you're afraid and we'll deal with it, okay?"

He nodded again, a silent tear running down his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, wondering what the hell happened to him that made him so—broken...

I mean, I saw some nasty shit before I became a Mercer. I got kicked around by my mother's boyfriend, got neglected and all that good stuff. Maybe it's because my will is so strong, but no matter how bad it got, no amount of abuse could ever break _my_ spirit.

Then again, maybe I hadn't seen the right kind of shit. Jack did get adopted as a baby by people who truly cared for him. Maybe his problem was he started out in life feeling safe and secure only to watch that security get ripped away.

When Jack was five-and-a-half an armed burglar broke into his house and shot his adoptive parents right in front of him after a chase through the house that ended in the back yard. He was alone with their corpses for days before anyone came around looking for them. By the time they found him, he'd shut himself off from the world and nearly starved to death. A lot of his PTSD comes from that experience, but not all of it. Some of it came later, on the streets and in group homes. He might've been abused in foster care, but no one knows for sure.

He stayed in my arms for a long time that night. So long that I fireman carried him down to the living room and sat on the couch with him, watching a football game on TV while he dozed, exhausted from his fight with me. He drooled on me a little, but I was too tired to care. Besides, the thought had entered my mind that if I tried to make him sit by himself it might set him off again.

Tonia was the first person home that night. My house wasn't even her home then—she'd just come over because her mom baked too many pies and figured we could use one. She put the dessert down in the kitchen and sat down beside me on the couch, lifting Jack's legs so they rested across her lap. She watched his face, her chin resting lightly on my free shoulder.

"You know, it really makes me hot to see you play daddy," she whispered in my ear, her soft touch stroking my hair.

I shot her a look even though I knew she was teasing.

"Do I look like I need a boner right now?" I asked, referring to the fact that the majority of Jack's weight rested on my lap.

She smirked in reply, settling against my side and resolving to gaze lovingly at Jack—as opposed to me...

"It's hard to imagine that no one would want something so beautiful, isn't it? Maybe it's your mom's influence, but I'd take him in a second."

I would've shrugged, but with both shoulders serving as pillows, I didn't have the ability.

"Ma's made progress with him. Hell, even I've made progress with him, I guess. It's just weird, because until tonight he never really did anything that made me think he was un-adoptable. He still pitches fits a lot, but Ma always calms him down quick enough—even the first day he came here. The thing that sets him off is teenagers; most adults can handle him just fine. I asked Ma why no one wanted him but she couldn't tell me. She said he had baggage in the past and we should worry about his future now.

"Besides, cuteness doesn't count when it comes to kids. I'm cute as hell and no one wanted me."

She giggled, pulling my face closer so she could kiss my cheek. "No one wants you, huh? So who am I? Nobody? Is Sheila Norton nobody?"

"Sheila?" I said, turning my head to look at her. "Who said anything about that whore?"

"She told my friend's little sister, Jan, that you're going to prom with her. Apparently the action's going to be hot and steamy late into the night."

I quirked an eyebrow at her. "You gonna stand for some seventeen-year-old high school slut going after your man?" I asked, honestly wanting to know.

Tonia often joked about me dating/screwing other girls. She acted nothing short of flippant about our relationship at times. We'd gone together long enough that I thought we were exclusive. It drove me up the wall when she'd let other guys flirt with her, even if she didn't appear to flirt back. I just couldn't understand why she never got angry or jealous. She couldn't understand why I did get angry, and jealous, and did I mention angry?

It never occurred to her that I feared losing her to another young buck with a better background and reputation. I was loyal to a fault, and I expected the same in return from those I trusted with my loyalty.

She shrugged. "You know the rules, Bobby. If you cheat, you were never mine in the first place. Besides, I know you won't cheat."

"Yeah, how's that?"

She smiled evilly. "You're afraid I'll go after Jack like Sofi went after Angel. I don't think your pride could handle two pieces of your leftovers hanging off the arms of your little brothers."

"Sofi isn't technically a leftover. I did turn her down, you know."

She smiled, kissing me, her arms wrapping around my neck. "Believe me, I know, Tough Guy."

Whenever we 'went' together I never did cheat on her. Sure, there were other girls. Tonni went away for a semester after high school before transferring back to a local community college. During that time I felt sort of like she'd abandoned me, so I went at it with any girl willing. I even went steady with someone else for a while, but it fell apart in no time, just like always.

Why was Tonia different? Was it because I loved her, because I felt she was the one for me? Not really. The thing that always stopped me was that if she found out it would mean I was never her boyfriend to start with, just like she said. She might get hurt, but she'd never let me know. She wouldn't get mad. She'd just cut me out of her life for good.

I didn't want that. I _wanted_ to be her man. I'd let her in because I always got this vibe off her like she'd never do anything sudden or drastic that would turn my life upside down.

Not a whole hell of a lot of the people in the world could say they got as close to me as Tonia had by age nineteen. She'd become a huge part of my life, rivaled only by Ma and my brothers. They would always come first, but she made a close second.

Jackie opened his eyes, blinking sleepily and snuggling against my chest for warmth. Apparently he'd decided I was okay, and all of a sudden he's gotten clingy. I suspected that wouldn't last forever. By morning we'd probably be back on uncertain terms. Some days he'd trust me more than others, depending on his mood. I knew that much from personal experience.

"You're adorable, Jackie," Tonia commented, snickering.

I found her dry humor familiar, but Jack didn't. His fists tightened their grip on my t-shirt. I wondered just how much more 'safe' he needed before he'd relent to going up to sleep in his bed.

"Shh," Tonia whispered, running her hand comfortingly up and down his shin. "It's okay, honey, just go back to sleep. Your big brother's got you. He's not going anywhere. Just relax and we'll watch the game until your mama gets home. Close your eyes and go back to sleep."

To my astonishment he obeyed, relaxing and actually stretching out his thin limbs so his body lay across both our laps. I used a couch pillow to prop up his head, my arm having fallen asleep with him lying on it. I ruffled his hair, stretching out a little myself, my arm coming to rest around Tonia's shoulders after I reached for the ceiling and yawned.

She leaned against me, still holding Jackie's legs. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Bobby."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I'm just sure you're doomed for prison or an early grave, and sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, I think that maybe there's a chance you might actually turn out respectable."

"You plannin' on turning me respectable, Tonni?"

She grinned, propping her feet up next to mine on the coffee table. "Not any time soon."

-----

As I predicted, by the next morning Jack had reverted to tiptoeing around me. Jerry and I got into a shouting match in the afternoon over whether or not he could leave to go hang out with his friends, and the whole time Jackie sat on the couch with his knees pulled tight to his chest, rocking back and forth, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

I told Ma about how frustrating it was to have him trust me for a little while and then stop again. She told me to be patient, let him decide when he felt ready to have a big brother and everything that came with it. I hardly ever teased him back then; it just wasn't any fun. He got set off so easily it boggled my mind. After the first couple times I sent him into a total detachment meltdown I decided to lay off until he could handle it better.

* * *

"You know," I said, looking at my nineteen-year-old little brother, "If you wanted me to leave you alone, you could always lie down on the floor, cover your ears, and start screaming. Maybe inflict a few wounds on yourself for good measure. That worked pretty well when you were nine."

He made some unintelligible noise, flipping me off before reaching out in my general direction, signaling his readiness to get up. I slowly got out of my chair, feeling stiff after sitting in it for so long. I grabbed his hand and pulled him up into a sitting position. He did seem worse. It took him a long time to bring his legs around so I could help him stand.

"Where to?" I asked, getting under his arm.

"Bathroom," he said, his eyes still half closed.

"You just went."

"Did you see that monster we built last night? That took hours. It doesn't all come out of you at once." He noticed the look I gave him. "Plus Tonia brought me a half-gallon jug of water before she went to work and I drank the whole thing."

"All at once?"

"Yup."

My brow furrowed, just contemplating the idea of that. "_Damn_, little brother. Where the hell you put all that liquid away? You eat like a Goddamn bird."

"Don't burn any calories sitting around. Don't need to eat much."

"What, you trying to keep your figure nice so the boys'll notice you? Don't bother, sweetheart. I'm gonna make sure you can wear a pretty white dress to your wedding—if it's the last thing I do."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Like it isn't too late for that. But I'm sure I can count on you to carry the shotgun, _daddy_," he remarked sarcastically as we entered the bathroom and I kicked the door shut behind us.


	14. Pyro Therapy

AN: I know some people were wondering what happened to Jerry, so I included him in this chapter. Yea!

* * *

"Hey, Cracker Jack, how you feelin'?" Jerry called, walking straight in the house without knocking.

I tipped back in my chair far enough to see him standing in the living room. "Don't talk to him, Jerry. His boyfriend wore him out last night and he's cranky."

"Virgin ears are listening, Bobby," Jack taunted from his recliner, his eyes never shifting away from the dancing puppets on the television set.

A commercial came on and Amelia looked up long enough to realize Jerry stood there, watching her and grinning.

"Daddy!" she shouted, hopping up and running to meet him.

He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her cheek.

"You have fun hanging out here with your uncles?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded with enthusiasm. Ever since she'd taken her nap she'd seemed a bit more chipper. "We played _Sorry_ and I won! Uncle Jackie came in second and Uncle Bobby lost."

"Only because Uncle Jackie cheated!" I shouted, hearing Jack start to chuckle. "See? The little fairy doesn't even deny it! He thinks it's funny!"

Amelia giggled, leaning over to whisper in Jerry's ear. He groaned, rolling his eyes. "_Bobby,_" he said, a warning in his tone. "Did you tell my daughter that her uncle has 'Fairy Syndrome?'"

I heard Jackie burst out laughing. He leaned off the side of his chair so he could get a good look at me in the kitchen. "There's a point for me. I told you she'd pick up on the crap you say and tell Jerry."

I spread my arms out, palms up. "So what was I supposed to tell her? That you got piss drunk last night and couldn't drag your ass the fu—"

"Bobby!" Jerry and Jack shouted in unison, both scolding me.

"What!" I said, knowing exactly 'what,' but acting like I didn't.

Amelia giggled. At least she had a sense of humor.

Jerry only shook his head, looking up toward the heavens, probably asking for strength.

"Don't bother, Jer. Ma can't help you now," I said, ripping a match out of a book and striking it, watching it burn.

"I was looking to see if you guys have a working fire alarm in this place. At the rate you're going with those matches, I figure it's been a while since you had any pyro therapy, Bobby. You're probably due to burn _somethin'_ down," he said, walking over.

I blew out my match, looking up at him from my seat. He was studying me, my head in particular.

"You like it?" I said, daring him to say 'no.'

He started to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Well? You like it or not, Jerry?"

"You cut it yourself?"

"Yeah, I cut it myself. Real men cut their own hair. Right, Angel?" I called to the bald black man walking through the front door right at that moment.

Angel glowered at me, heading toward the stairs.

"Fuck you, Bobby," he said, betraying his foul mood.

Jack broke down laughing, tilting his head even further to one side to throw his lengthening bangs out of his eyes.

"She got addicted, to what Angel's dick did. But then she got the patch and the gum and now she's quittin' 'em," baby brother taunted from his chair, seriously asking for an ass whupping. Apparently Jack could be a real smartass while hung over. How this escaped me for so long, I have no idea.

Fortunately Ang didn't even pause in stalking up the stairs to his room. That was good news, because I didn't feel up to cleaning fairy guts off the walls before going to work.

I turned to Jerry, using my head to motion toward the upstairs. "Who's mess is that?" I asked, picking up a quarter from a pile of pocket change lying on the table top and chucking it in Jack's general direction.

Jerry shrugged. "He came in to work like that so I figured you boys would know."

I thought about that for a second, sobering further. "Hey, Jackie."

"Yo."

"You piss Angel off when he took you upstairs this morning?"

"News flash, Bobby. Not everything that goes wrong in Angel's life is my fault or _your business_," he informed me.

I chucked another quarter at him, and then turned back to Jerry. "Jack blacked out, so he probably said something that pissed Angel off."

"Oh, sure, blame me!"

Jerry only shook his head. "That's not it and you know it. Y'all know there's nothing you could've said that would piss him off all day like that. Little brother's got a problem and when he's ready, he'll spill it."

"Yes, he will," I said, hefting myself to my feet, casually tossing the pack of matches down on the table.

I made my way toward the stairs.

"Where you goin', Bobby?" Jerry asked, not sounding at all like a man at ease. "_Bobby. _When he's _ready_, Bobby."

"Don't worry about it, Jerry, I'm only going to ask him if he likes my haircut," I said, quickly mounting the stairs on my way up to Angel's room.

By the time I reached the top landing I could hear Jack laughing. "Yeah, Jerry. Bobby just wants to _talk_ to him. Nothing to worry about!"

Fucking smartass fairy.

"Hey, Angel," I called, striding toward his door. "I gotta ask you a question, it's important." I tried to turn the knob on his door, only to find it locked.

"Stay the fuck outta my business, Bobby!" Angel shouted back.

"Ooo, you sound mad, little sister. Are you sure you don't wanna talk about it with your big brother? We could split a canister of ice cream, have a real heart-to-heart," I taunted, taking a step back.

"Go to hell!"

I shrugged, acting calm for my own amusement even though my blood boiled over at the thought of confrontation. I kicked the door in, finding Angel sitting on his bed. He tried to get up but I grabbed him by the head and forced him down, working him into a half Nelson.

"What's your problem, man?" he yelled, half his words smothered when I mashed his face into his pillow.

"I've got issues, Angel. I don't like it when my little brother walks into the house and tells me to fuck myself! Now either you give a damn good fucking reason why you're so worked up or I'm gonna make your little problem look like a Caribbean vacation."

"All right! Get offa me, man, an I'll tell you!"

I tightened my grip, pulling him off the bed and dropping his ass onto the floor. "You tell me now! I ain't letting _shit_ up until I've got some answers outta you! Is it Sofi? Did that girl pull shit with you?"

"That what you wanna hear, Bobby? I broke up with my girl? That what you wanna fuckin' hear?" he shouted, finally shoving me off and sitting up. We sat opposite each other on the floor for a long moment in a silent stare down. On his best day, Angel's could _never_ match me in a battle of wills; with something weighing so heavily on his mind, he didn't stand a chance.

"Let's hear it," I said when he finally looked away.

He shook his head, closing his eyes and draping one arm over his knee, the other coming up so he could rub his nose with the back of his hand.

"She gone, man. Got into some cat fight at a bar and got arrested. Her mother called to tell me they deported her crazy bitch ass this morning. She ain't comin' back."

I nodded, letting that sink in. On the one hand, I hated to see my little brother depressed. On the other, I'd never been thrilled about the idea of La Vida Loca mothering a niece or nephew of mine.

"I got a little jealous," I admitted.

"What?" he said, like he didn't catch my words.

"At the police station, when Sofi and Camille came for you and Jerry. Those girls raised all kinds of hell for you guys," I said, smiling a tiny bit. "I got a little jealous, man."

Angel smiled grimly at the memory, still intently studying his hands. Apparently he'd found a splinter in his finger. I watched him try to dig it out.

I decided to continue, just to cover up the silence, "Then, when they finally released us, those crazy girls babied you boys, let you know how much they cared for you. I didn't hate Sofi all the time. Most days she was the only person worth arguing with in this house. She put you and Jackie-O to shame. Made you two look like a couple old ladies by comparison."

Another reluctant smile, bigger this time. I'd never told him any of that shit before. Some of it I'd made up on the spot, but not all of it.

"Don't see why you'd get jealous, man. You got your girl," he reminded softly.

I shrugged, not voicing the doubts in my head. Never in a million years could I imagine Tonia running down to a police station and giving people hell on my behalf. I kept trying to remind myself she just didn't express herself that way, she played everything cool.

Sometimes it got hard to keep that in mind, especially when Sofi and Camille's exuberance got smashed in my face on a regular basis.

"Tonni, she really loves you. She must, to stick around this long."

"Don't bullshit me, Ang," I said, my mood turning dark. I definitely needed to get out more. The teen queen drama of my little brothers' lives had started to suck me down right along with them. "You're no Jerry and you sure as hell ain't no Jack. You and me live in a totally different world from them, and our world is a _fantasy-free_ zone. I'm nothing to Tonia but a rebound guy, and everyone with half an ounce of sense knows it. She moved on, she got fucking married..."

He grinned, using his thumbnail to slowly push the piece of wood out from under his skin.

"Girl showed up here in the middle of the night, two days before her weddin'. I'd just got in on leave for a visit. Ma took her upstairs, talked with her for two, maybe three hours. Don't know what they coulda talked about fo' so long, but me an' Jackie figured it probably had something to do with you. She probably didn't deserve to get stuck on a dumbshit like Bobby Mercer, but so far as I can tell, she must've got herself stuck on you somehow—even if she don't always let it show."

I picked up a shoe off the floor and tossed it at his leg half-heartedly, letting my back settle against the wall. "Thought this little therapy session was for you, Jarhead. Why the fuck are we talking about my problems?"

"You don' listen to other people's problems, Bobby. You just take notes so you can compare and see if they've got it worse than you. Tha's all you care about. Fact of life in this house. Some people have 'beware of dog' signs to keep people from breaking into their houses. We outta put up a 'Beware of Bobby' sign. You're a ruthless sonovabitch."

I chuckled. "This from my ex-hustler, marine of a little brother. Yeah, you're such a shining fucking example for society. We better call up the people who give out the Nobel Peace Prize every year and get your name entered," I said, getting to my feet. "Have fun sulking in here alone, sweetheart," I called over my shoulder while walking out the door. I would've slammed it behind me, but just like half the doors in the house, it no longer latched.

With Sofi gone I probably had a while before I'd have to fix the damn thing. Angel wouldn't be bringing home a reason to keep his door shut at night...

At least, not for a _couple _days...


	15. Skates

AN: It's been a while--finals, work, summer classes. I should update again soon, I'm just behind on all my stories right now. My summer break starts in just over a week. Yea!

AN2: I'm just too lazy to keep checking to see if the editor deleted spaces between words when I post new chapters. I absolutely hate it when that happens, but I figure it's a losing battle and hope it's not too annoying to read. Sorry:-P

* * *

Saturday was Jackie's birthday. I went out before work on Friday night and bought him the most expensive guitar I could afford without going completely broke until my next paycheck. Normally I'm not much for parties and presents on birthdays, but just the fact that my baby brother actually lived long enough to turn twenty struck something deep inside—namely, my wallet. 

I knew better than to reward him for getting shot, since the little nitwit would probably go do it every year just to see me act like a sucker. Still, it wasn't every day something scared me, and Jack almost dying scared me half to death.

When the kid first showed up, I didn't figure I'd get too attached. I mean, it wasn't like kids hadn't come and gone like crazy through Ma's house before she finally adopted the four of us and we took up all the room she had. By the time Jack got there I was eighteen and had bucked for my freedom for years. I was playing minor league hockey then and on the side I made as much money as I could, legally or illegally, in the hopes of getting my own place soon.

I didn't plan on sticking around.

Then I got into some trouble, went on probation, couldn't get my shit together enough to move out of Ma's house, and the damn kid just sort of—grew on me.

It wasn't like Angel. Angel didn't worship me, he respected me like only a younger brother could. He followed me around so he could learn to act like me. Jack eventually started following me around for no good reason at all. I'd turn around and he'd be standing there, looking up at me. Scared the fuck outta me a couple times, let me tell ya. Kid knew how to walk real quiet so people wouldn't even know he was there.

By the time Jack turned ten he'd mellowed a little. He met some kid at school named Mike and the two of them hung out together a lot with me baby-sitting them in the afternoons.

That went on for about a year or so.

Mike was a good kid. He wasn't particularly loud, but he liked to go out and do things, as opposed to staying inside all the time. He roped Jackie into going out into the neighborhood to play with the other kids. Jack didn't make any other real friends, but Ma said it was good for him to get exposed to new people so he'd develop what she called 'coping skills.'

* * *

I woke up with a serious hangover one afternoon to their excited chatter. I'd crashed on the couch most of the day, having come in, completely trashed, some time after Ma left for work that morning.

She used to smack me over the head if she saw me sleeping a hard night off on the couch. Scolded me to beat the band even after I turned twenty one.

"Hurry up, Jack! They're gonna pick teams and we won't be on one! Hurry up!" Mike urged from the door.

"I can't find my skates," Jack called back. I could hear him digging through the closet near the front door.

I slowly rolled off the couch, getting my feet under me and taking it one step at a time. I felt like snapping at them to shut up, but I figured I'd get to rest sooner if I helped shove them out the door as fast as possible.

"I can't find my skates anywhere, Bobby," Jackie complained when he caught sight of me. He picked up an old pair of Jerry's and checked the tags before discarding them.

I eyed his uncovered mop of dirty blonde hair and his bare hands. He wore nothing but jeans and an oversized Lions sweatshirt, a hand-me-down from Angel. I made an unintelligible noise of disapproval.

"Go on ahead, Mike. He'll catch up," I said, walking back into the living room, heading for a pile of winter clothes on one of the armchairs, discarded the day before, after the four of us got back from playing hockey at the rink. Without any prompting, Jack followed close behind me.

"You can't play worth a damn if you're freezing your ass off, Jackie. Now help me find your coat," I grumbled, my tone clearly telling him not to give me any crap.

He still didn't talk much, but from time to time he and Angel got into shouting matches over stupid stuff. Sometimes he'd whine when I ordered him around, forgetting that, unlike Jerry or Angel, I had no problem pinning him down on the floor for as long as necessary.

Jerry would argue with me sometimes, and so would Angel, but Jackie knew better.

He searched with me, finding a windbreaker about his size. I jammed a hat on his head, over his hair, ears, and eyes.

"_Bobby_," he complained, pushing it up so he could see before pulling the jacket over his head.

"Here, put these on or you'll get your fingers smashed," I lectured curtly, handing him the smallest pair of heavy leather gloves I could find.

He obeyed, pulling them on while I wrapped a scarf around his neck, purposely almost smothering him with it when I wrapped it around his mouth and nose.

I went back out with him to the closet, but no matter how we searched we couldn't find his skates. Finally I made him try on a pair of my old ones. They were the first pair I'd ever owned. I'd received them as a 'welcome home' present from Ma the day she adopted me. Jackie knew how much they meant to me.

"They fit, but I can't wear these," he said, pulling his boots back on.

All I wanted to do was go back to sleep, so I waved off his protest, taking a moment to straighten his too-big jacket.

"It's fine, just take them and get going. All your little friends are waiting over at the rink and you're taking forever like a little girl, you freaking fairy."

He picked them up, tying the laces and throwing them over one shoulder. "Thanks, Bobby," he said breathlessly, running out the door.

"Don't you come back without them, Jack! I'll skin you alive!" I called after him, already on my way back to the couch to collapse.


	16. Panic

AN: To the anonymous reviewer who commented on my comments about Jack's pointless death: When I said Jack's death was pointless, my point of view was from the perspective of a story teller. Most of my protest is out of frustration with the repetative nature of Hollywood action movies. Three relatively famous action movies: Fast & Furious, American Outlaws, and Four Brothers all have little brother characters who die tragically. Their names are Jack, Jim, and Jesse (they're all different actors' takes on the same character, if you look closely). Two of them, (Jack and Jim) even have older brothers named Robert. It's simularity to a sickening extent. Little brother characters are killed off for the purpose of pulling the heartstrings of the audience and a) justifying the anger of the older brothers and b) to make the enemy look bad (the point of Jack's death was to makethe watcherdislike Sweet, since it was hard to identify him with Evelyn's murder,but I thoughtthe strategy wasextremely ineffective). I especially hated it when Jack died in Four Brothers because, literally, from the first second I saw him on screen, I knew he would die in a shoot-out. The reason I knew Bobby would survive? He's the writer's pet, the character the most effort was put into--and the writer's pet almost never dies, except in tremendously heroic circumstances. The movie was that predictable--yet, sadly enough (because of the work put in by the actors), itwas one of the better movies of 2005.

In my opinion, too many movies are put out a year, and there just isn't enough quality material to go around. I realize my skills need a great deal of polishing, and I have a lot to learn, but I believe one day I will be able to come up with better stories than the basic plot behind Four Brothers (the improv acting saved the movie) and with far less predictability.

AN2: I'm just too lazy to keep checking to see if the editor deleted spaces between words when I post new chapters. I absolutely hate it when that happens, but I figure it's a losing battle and hope it's not too annoying to read. Sorry:-P

* * *

I woke up to the phone ringing, hours later. It was the father of one of the kids Jack and Mike hung out with during school. He told me there'd been an accident, a shooting, a number of the kids got sent to the hospital. Some of them died... 

I left the phone hanging off the hook in my rush to get my keys and run out to my car. I didn't even stop to put on a coat, and before I got half way to the hospital I was freezing. I turned up the heater to high blast, but I couldn't stop shaking.

I raised hell the moment I got in the doors of the hospital emergency room, finding myself in a packed waiting room with dozens of other people raising hell over their own injuries or their own missing children from the park shooting.

Just when I started to feel the urge to reach behind me and whip out my gun to shut everyone up so I could get some answers, I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye.

He'd curled up in a corner, as far from the mob as possible. His coat and sweatshirt were gone, as were his gloves, boots, and hat. He'd wrapped his bare arms around his knees and started rocking himself, sitting on the floor, sobbing through clenched teeth.

I rushed over too fast. He flinched away from me, scrambling and screaming when I grabbed him, forcing him to his feet. Out of shock I let him go, watching him sink into a boneless pile.

The front of his white t-shirt was a mess of blood. I hadn't noticed at first because he'd wrapped up into himself, covering the stains.

Before I could even process how horrible he looked, Jack jumped up and made a dash for the emergency exit, setting off the alarm when he ran out into the cold winter night.

Seeing him run snapped me back into the moment and I ran after him. The kid didn't even have shoes on. His feet would freeze in minutes out there.

I caught up with him quickly. He fell a few feet from the door, slipping in the slush. I almost tripped over him, unable to stop my own momentum. Upon regaining my balance I grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up so I could examine him.

"Where're you hit? Where're you fucking hit, Jackie?" I yelled, panicking.

"It's not mine," he sobbed, gripping my arms, letting his forehead come to rest against me to hide his face when it started to twist with his sobs. "You told me not to come home if I lost them! You said you'd kill me. I lost them. I tried to stop them, but they pulled them right off me. They took everything. They were kids from the junior high. They had guns; they shot kids and took all their money. They didn't take anyone else's skates, only mine! I'm sorry, Bobby! I'm so sorry!"

I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, crushing him to my chest with the arm I had around his shoulders. "I don't care about the skates, Jackie. I thought you got shot! Don't you scare me like that again, you little fairy," I scolded, so relieved I could barely breathe.

"They killed him. He died, Bobby. He died," Jack choked, his young voice cracking. I didn't know if he even heard me. I couldn't make heads or tails of half the shit he was saying.

I lifted him so I could hook my arm under his knees, carrying him back to my car.

* * *

He withdrew on the way home. I'd covered him with my sweatshirt after buckling him in. He huddled in the passenger seat, his teeth clenched too tight to chatter and his wide eyes staring at something horrifying that I couldn't see.

To say Ma freaked out probably would've been the understatement of the decade. She started ripping into me, so I had to do some fast talking, tell her what happened. What I thought happened... For once it wasn't my fault my brother had blood on his shirt and his brain had shut itself off.

I'd never seen anyone do that before—dissolve instantly into complete unresponsiveness. When mom went to get clothes and blankets for Jack, Angel took a pin and poked Jack's finger deep enough to draw blood. The kid didn't even flinch.

"Bobby," mom called, bustling in with a garbage bag and some towels. "Get his shirt off. We should get rid of those clothes. He won't want to see them again after today."

Angel hid the pin before Ma could see him mutilating Jackie's hand and he took a step back, standing next to me.

I approached Jack warily, wondering if he'd lash out at the first person to touch him I'd known kids in foster care who pulled stunts like that. Some of them on purpose, some because they couldn't help it.

"Lift your arms up, Cracker Jack," I instructed, sounding bored. I couldn't let on that I was worked up. If _I_ started acting like something was wrong with him, he'd never snap out of it.

Jack didn't even blink in response to my words.

"Fine. I'll rip it off. Is that what you want?" I asked, reaching behind him and taking hold of his shirt about halfway down his back.

Still nothing.

Angel stepped forward when I sighed in frustration, lifting up Jack's arms so I could ungracefully pull his shirt over his head. Ma brushed past us, wrapping him in a towel to keep him warm.

Ma and Angel took him upstairs for a shower and I ate a cold dinner, mostly pushing my food around on my plate because I hated the sense of helplessness pressing down on me.

I finally went to bed, listening to mom sing to Jackie from a chair at his bedside. She sat up in our room most of the night.

I wondered that night if I'd ever have the patience to care for another person the way Ma always took care of us.

I decided that I didn't, and I never would...


	17. Under the Skin

AN: Thanks so much to anyone who's still actually reading this. I really should at least attempt to update my stuff with some regularity, but for whatever reason I never do. I think it's a college thing. A week seems like a day, a month a week, and so on. I'm also way behind on reading other people's stuff and giving them feedback, but someday I plan to get around to it--at least, I hope so... Anyway, muchos gracias for all the great support:-)

* * *

Days passed, and Jackie still didn't speak. He improved in the sense that he went where you told him to go, and ate if you sat and watched him do it. Still, more often than not, he'd just lay in bed, staring off at the wall. The schools in the area had closed for a few days, pending the arrest of the shooters from the park. Angel stayed home during the day with Cracker Jack, forcing him to get up every morning and eat while I slept after work. None of us were allowed to answer the phone during that time, because the police and reporters kept calling, even though Ma told them Jackie couldn't answer any questions.

It was a Sunday night when he finally came around. Must've been, because I'd gone to bed instead of work.

I woke up to a dark room, and an explosion of pain in my side knocked the air from my lungs. Someone was standing over me, beating me with a fucking bat.

I should've known right away. I didn't get hit hard enough to cripple me—just enough to bruise deep, and sting like crazy. Might've cracked a rib, but I wouldn't realize it until after my initial adrenaline rush.

I lunged out of bed, taking the fucker down and smashing my fist into their face. The resulting 'oomph' didn't come from some dude I had a beef with, or a burglar. It came from a child, a kid half my size.

Fear started freezing my veins over as I reached for the lamp next to my bed and turned it on, revealing Jack's bloodied features. My eyes widened in disbelief. What had just fucking happened? How had I ended up on top of my baby brother, smashing his skull with my fists?

He struggled, trying to free himself. I'd gotten him in the cheek, giving him a nasty abrasion that would sting for a week—never mind the bruise beneath it...

Grabbing his wrists, I flipped him over onto his stomach, holding him down. I hadn't been forced to restrain him in over a year.

"No! No, no! Don't stop," he sobbed, spit and blood from his nose flying onto the carpet, his eyes squeezing shut. "Don't stop."

"Don't stop what, Jackie? What the fuck are you talking about, what were you doing?"

The air he drew into his lungs whistled through a tight air passage, causing him to hiccup in his breathing. "Hit me! Fucking hit me, Bobby! I wanna die. I can't stand it, I wanna die!" he screamed, his eyes squeezing shut tight.

By that point I'd seriously started to freak out. "What do you mean you wanna die? What're you, crazy? You think I'd hurt you on purpose? Why would you try to make me do that to you, Jackie? Why?" I'd started yelling myself, only scaring him more.

He flinched, still crying and sobbing.

"It should've been me!" he screamed desperately, his cries reaching a pitch and volume that hurt my ears. "You don't even care Mike died! He was the only friend I've ever had. Why would you care if you killed me, Bobby? You didn't fucking care about Mike, and he's better than me! I tried to fight them when they took your skates off me! I got up and they would've shot me, but he pushed me out of the way. I never would've done that for him, I would've been too fucking scared. I tried to save him, I tried to keep the blood from running out, but he died anyway! He died, and you came to get me, and you didn't even fucking care!"

I was starting to see what had happened to him. He'd shut himself off, gone numb because he couldn't handle it. Now the hurt was smothering him; but at least he'd come back. He'd started to live again. I never had, not entirely. I'd never cried over losing someone I'd cared about, I'd just let myself become angry and mean.

I stroked his soft hair after a long moment, streaking the blood on my fingers through his dirty blonde locks, wishing I could say something that would take away the pain.

"That's because I didn't care, Jackie. All I worried about that night was finding you alive. I'm sorry you lost your friend, because I've lost friends too. I've watched my friends die, I've watched them go to prison, and I can deal with that. You know what I can't deal with? Losing one of my brothers. Mike was a nice kid, but he wasn't Jerry, he wasn't Angel, and he sure as hell wasn't you. If you'd died that night, Jack, I would've torn this city apart by now. Whoever did it would be dead. They can have my fucking skates, but they can't touch my family. You understand me?"

He shook his head. "I'm fucked up," he whispered, his sobs fading into an occasional hitch in his voice.

"Ah, Jackie," I said, trying so, so hard not to smile. "Do you really think we're normal, that _I'm _normal? We're all fucked up. We're the Mercers—ask _anyone_."

"I'm not really your brother," he said, his eyes starting to glass over again.

"Yes, you are, Jack," I said, squeezing his shoulders. I'd be damned if I was going to lose him again. He had to stop self-destructing, and face whatever the hell had dug its way inside him. He'd never learn to deal with anything if he didn't.

He shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Don't you try that bullshit on me, Jack. You look at me. Look at me!" I yelled.

His eyes flickered in my direction, but nothing more.

"Don't you fucking tell yourself I don't care about you! Don't you start feeling sorry for yourself like a little faggot! You wanna know why you matter to me? Why I love you like a brother? I love you, because I _need_ to love you. I need to love Ma, and I need to love Jerry and Angel. I need you all to love me back, because that's what makes me strong, Jackie. Being strong to protect myself isn't enough. If I only had to keep myself alive, I'd be dead now. I'm tough, because I've got a good enough reason. Protecting Ma and protecting my brothers _is_ _my reason_. You're all weaker than me, and that makes me feel like I can get through anything, because I don't have a choice. If I'm not the man of the house, no one else will be. It sounds selfish as hell, but consider the fucking source. I need you guys, all of you. You have to realize I'm _never_ going to stop needing you, Jackie. You're my brother. "

He still shook his head, but he'd choked up again, he'd started coming back. He wrapped one of his hands around my wrist and squeezed, dissolving into silent tears.

I let him up, but he didn't rise from the floor. He lay there, bawling. I patted him on the back, squeezing his shoulder, relieved he hadn't shut himself off again. "Just let it out, Jackie. That's all you can do."

He was too busy burying his face against the carpet to notice Ma peek in our door, wrapped in her bathrobe and squinting at us through the light in the room. She tilted her head as though to ask me if I needed help.

I shook my head. I had things under control by then. All there was left to do was wait it out until the kid could fall asleep.

Ma left us there on the floor of our room, silently shutting the door behind her.


	18. Going on Twenty

"You just _had_ to buy him a sweet ass guitar, _didn't you_," Angel complained in a monotone.

We looked at each other from opposite ends of the couch for a moment, staring dully. The floor was covered with wrapping paper that Jackie had careless tossed away after opening each gift. The fairy had gone ballistic over my present. I ain't kidding. Not even _I _saw his reaction coming. He'd jumped off his chair and _hugged me_. Apparently the guitar was signed by someone the kid liked—thus the high price.

Total accident on my part, but still, I couldn't help but enjoy the fact that it'd given him something to grin about.

"Man, I spent like five hours trying to find him a fucking present. Didn't know what the hell to get him. I found that CD he's been scrounging the internet for, and then _you_ had to get him a guitar signed by some lame-ass twenty-something-year-old punk-rocker I never heard of."

I shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift."

"Pftt. A gift. You prolly walked into some trashy music store and pointed at the first thing you saw on the wall. Took you what, ten minutes?"

"Five, actually..."

"Yeah, see, that's my point. You just threw money around and got your way, just like always."

"Ain't my fault you went cheap, sweetheart," I said, rearranging myself to a more comfortable position.

"Don't even go there, man," he said, sitting up a little straighter like he was about to launch into a lecture about my spending habits. He took a breath like he was about to get started, but Tonia walked into the room with three open beers in her hands, distracting him.

"I need to borrow my man for a while, Angel," she said, handing him one of the damp bottles. She winked at him. "You don't mind, right?"

He leaned back, taking a sip and resolving to focus on the TV. "Pffsh. You want him, he's all yours, Tonni."

I smiled a little as my girl slapped a beer into one of my palms and then dragged me to my feet by my shirt collar. I chased her up the stairs at a slow jog, being careful not to spill my drink.

I suppose I should've guessed we were headed for my bedroom, but for what purpose didn't really hit me until I'd shut the door behind us and walked over to sit beside Tonia on my bed. We sat there for a while just enjoying the quiet, and the ice cold beer. I kept reaching over as if to touch her breasts, and she kept playfully slapping my hand away, a game we'd started sometime in high school and never grown tired of.

"Sort of missed you this week," she finally admitted, letting her weight rest behind her on one arm. "Seems like I never see you when I come over to do exercises with Jack and Angel."

"Yeah, we should really work on that," I said, taking another swig.

Inevitably we were going to make love that afternoon, but I wasn't in a hurry. The mood wasn't right for mad passion, especially with so many people downstairs.

She finished hers first, setting it down on the dresser and looking over at me.

"You know, Bobby, I think there's something I forgot to mention when I got here today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're really hot with short hair."

I nodded appreciatively, taking a moment to soak in her comment. "Well, you know, I'm really hot in general, but when I try..."

She smiled. "You need to learn when to shut up."

"Hmm, make me," I said, acting like I wasn't watching her every move.

She scooted over to my side and kissed me, one of her small hands gripping the front of my shirt.

"You shaved," she whispered.

I pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her again. When we came up for air I noticed her slight flush, the spark in her eyes.

"Well, at least there's still one way to make you put a sock in it," she opined, looping her arms around my neck.

"Sure you wanna do this now?" I asked. "Jerry's kids are over."

Tonia nodded. "Yep, that's it. The world's fastest buzz-kill. You working tonight, Tough Guy?"

"Na, not until tomorrow night."

"Okay, so we'll save the romance for tonight. Deal?"

I kissed her again, deciding I'd think about it before responding.

* * *

We all went out to a bar to celebrate Jack's birthday that evening. Not that Jack came with us. With his damaged lung, he would've choked to death on the smog. It was me, Angel, and Tonia. Jerry and his family stayed with the fairy; not that he needed the company. He had a new guitar. We'd be lucky if he spoke to any of us within the next half century.

Angel found some girls he knew from high school within two minutes of entering the door, and disappeared to go chill with them. Tonia and I sat at the bar, shooting the shit with the bartender, watching a baseball game on TV. I had one round of whiskey, then stuck to beer the rest of the night. Tonia had a couple beers, then switched to soda. Probably figured she'd have to drive my drunk ass home, and she wasn't going to count on Angel to stay sober enough to do it.

I took a trip to the bathroom around one in the morning. I'd drank enough to get a good buzz going, and I figured soon we'd need to get home, or else I'd be way too tired to take advantage of the pleasant evening Tonia had promised me.

The second I stepped out of the men's room, I knew there was something off. I couldn't immediately pick out Tonia in the crowd, because some jackass had sat down on my empty stool beside her.

It was a young guy. Between Angel and Jerry's age, I guessed, when I got closer. He was trying to hold a conversation with Tonia, not paying any attention to what went on around him. White, drunk, and stupid. Three deadly ingredients when you live in inner-city Detroit.

"Yo, asshole," I addressed him, having walked up behind him.

He didn't stop chattering on to Tonia. "Yeah, you should see my boat sometime. When it gets warmer you could come out with me and my friends. We tube and ski. Do you water-ski? You look like you'd be great at it."

I'm not sure what pissed me off more. The fact he was trying to pick her up, or the fact she sat there with a calm smile on her face, absently playing with the straw in her drink, not even bothering to fend him off.

I slapped him across the back of the head hard enough to make his brain bounce.

He grabbed at the back of his skull. "Ow. What the fuck is your problem, man?" he asked, having turned half-way around to look at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hit you?" I asked, pouring on the sarcasm.

"Yeah, you did. What the fuck's your problem?" he whined.

I pointed at Tonia. "She's my girl. That's my seat. Get up," I said, jerking my thumb in the general direction away from the bar. "Get the fuck up," I repeated when he didn't start moving fast enough. I grabbed him by the collar and helped him along, reclaiming my stool.

I settled on my seat, looking over at Tonia. She was sipping her soda through a straw. She smiled at my scowl, putting her drink down and reaching over to tug my sleeve.

"Come on, hon. Let's go, huh?" she asked.

I shook my head, my eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling. She had to know her mellow demeanor around that guy had ticked me off.

It had always bothered me when she wouldn't react to a situation. She'd just sat back and watched me blow up a million times in the years we'd been together, but I'd only seen her get truly emotional on a very small number of occasions. I could only remember seeing her cry twice. Once when her dad died, and again a year or two later, when we were in our early twenties, not too long before I got kicked out of the league and left Detroit. Both times she'd come to the window of the room I'd shared with Jack in the middle of the night; and after I'd let her in, she'd lay down under the covers with me, trying to muffle her crying against my chest so Jack wouldn't hear.

I'd never found out why she'd come to me that second time. It'd disturbed me so much to see her in pain, I didn't even consider asking what was wrong.

She slipped off her stool, leaning over to nip my ear. I felt her squeeze the back of my neck. "Come on, baby. Let's go home," she whispered in my ear.

I nodded, giving in. God, it was sick how good she was at making me want her.

"Want me to go find Angel?" she asked.

"Na. He ditched us. We're leavin' 'um," I said, pulling out my wallet and putting down money to cover the tab. The bartender was going to get one hell of a tip, just so I could get laid as fast as possible.


	19. Loss

Angel found his way home all right. I was just falling asleep with Tonia lying half on top of me when I heard his bed start rocking, and a girl start shouting, seemingly at the top of her lungs.

I groaned, and Tonia snickered, turning her face further into my shoulder to smother her amusement.

"I'm getting way too old to live here," I said, my arm tightening briefly around her waist. "The beds are too small, and there's not nearly enough privacy."

She resettled herself, using my shoulder for a pillow, her arm resting across my chest. "At least he seems to be getting over Sofi," she replied.

I grunted an agreement before we settled back into silence, attempting to fall asleep in spite of the racket.

* * *

Tisha James. Skinny black girl. Short. Wheat-colored bleached hair. Big mouth. Way too much attitude. She was in Angel's class in high school. They'd gone together before he'd gotten old enough to catch Sofi's attention. 

I loved La Vida Loca compared to Tish. If I'd known there was any chance Tisha would hook up with Angel, I would've driven to Mexico or wherever and smuggled Sofi back into the country myself.

No joke.

We were in the kitchen. Tonia had worked with Jackie on his knee and shoulder early that morning, and the three of us sat in the kitchen afterward, eating breakfast. I was still tired, so we ate in comfortable silence.

Teasing words and giggles alerted us to Angel and his 'guest' of the night coming down the stairs. They entered the kitchen a moment later, and I nearly groaned out loud when I saw he'd brought Tisha home.

"Fuck me," I bitched under my breath, leaning a little farther over my cereal, wishing I could drown myself in it.

Tonia reached over under the table, squeezing my knee in a comforting gesture. I knew for a fact she hated Tish just as much as I did, yet her first thought was to let me know she was there for me.

"Well, well, look who's back in town. The famous Bobby Mercer. What time did you and the old lady get to bed, Bobby? Nine?" Tisha taunted, giving me a pointed look while she hung off Angel's shoulder.

"Not unless they managed to sleep through you screaming," Jack muttered, still only half awake.

Tish walked over to where my little brother sat, smirking a bit. "If you had a man like mine, Jackie, you know you'd be screamin' too," she informed him, shooting Tonia a smug look while she ruffled up Jack's hair.

Little brother jerked his head out of her reach, shooting her a 'don't you fucking touch me' look.

"Jack's not gay," I stated matter-of-factly between bites of cereal, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, including Jack. "He's just too smart to mess around with a whore like you, Tish."

"Bobby," Angel said, the tone of his voice warning me to quit.

"Angel," I mimicked. "You've been off the Sofi train for all of what? Two days? You were going to marry La Vida Loca, now you're fucking around with this whore? Not even Ma liked her, and Ma liked _everybody_."

"Don't you fucking talk about me like that!" Tish shouted, strutting around the table to stand over me. She pointed accusingly at Tonia. "Just look at the tramp you're runnin' with, Bobby. You ever ask her why she never makes you wear a condom? You nothin' but the rebound, and she's hoping you'll knock her up, if you even can. You probably shooting blanks, old man."

I got to my feet, my head buzzing with rage. I couldn't tower over anyone, but Tish looked like a Smerf next to me. "This is the part where you realize you just might die if you say one more word," I threatened, my voice low and cold. "Like most of your former boyfriends, I have no problem whatsoever with hitting a woman if she's asking for it."

She sneered. "You don't scare me," she said, daring me to do it. "Besides, I'm doing you a favor. I'll bet you don't even know, do you? You don't know the real reason her husband left her. She can't have a baby. Every time she gets pregnant, she has a miscarriage. He got sick of it, and left, and she's fucked every man willing since then—until you came back to town. How do you like thinkin' about the fact that the girl you're with's been pregnant at least half a dozen times, and fucked every man in town? She old and used, and it's sad she's still suckering you into taking her back."

I think that might've been the first time in my life I was completely speechless. Tish's words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I couldn't help but turn to look at Tonia, to see if the expression on her face confirmed what I'd just been told.

I don't think I'd ever seen her pissed in all the years I'd known her. She always took everything in stride—but the look on her face when she got up was a rather unattractive picture of anger and shame.

Tish stepped into her path when Tonia tried to walk past me, to get away from the table and all of us staring at her.

"You mad now, Tonia? You mad because I outted you? Maybe you should get your boyfriend to smack me around—oh, wait. He ain't gonna want nothin' to do with you now, will he?"

Just to prove I really didn't know her half as well as I thought I did, Tonia hauled off and slugged Tish right there. One punch was all it took to put Tisha on her ass, and once she was down, she stayed there; holding the side of her face with one hand, too stunned to move.

Tonia stepped over her, walking out of the room without a glance back.

When Tonia was gone, Angel walked over to where Tisha lay, crouching down next to her. She'd started crying—something I'd never thought I'd see in my lifetime.

"Wow," Jack finally said, subconsciously doing his best 'awed stoner' impression. "That was amazing. Tonia seriously just decked her with one punch. I totally wish we'd gotten that on tape."

I nodded rather stupidly, my brain not quite up to processing everything I'd just taken in. Suddenly I felt compelled to go after my girlfriend, and without much thought, my feet carried me out to the living room, up the stairs, and to my bedroom door.

I didn't hear her crying from outside, but when I opened the door, I found her sitting on my bed, silently sobbing into her hands. It was only the third time in my life I'd seen her cry. The significance might not have been lost on me if I'd been able to actually form coherent thoughts at that moment in time.

The second I opened the door she started drying her eyes on her sleeves. She got up, picking up the few pieces of her clothing littering the floor.

The realization that she meant to leave me felt like punch to the gut.

"I thought you were on the pill," I said, my brain still not quite up to speed with my mouth.

"I haven't used the pill since we were eighteen," she said, wiping at her eyes with one hand, streaking mascara across her face. "I got a blood clot once in my arm, while you were away at a road game. Since then I've used a thermometer to take my temperature, so I know when it's okay. I don't always get off when I want to, but it works."

I remembered the time she'd been in the hospital. Mom had called to tell me about it. I'd been a sports junkie, so I'd figured Tonia had just taken a bad hit in gym and gotten a clot. I hadn't known it'd been because of the birth control she used. I hadn't known she'd almost died because we were sleeping together.

"You tell me this now?" I asked, still not sure if I was pissed or not.

Tonia shrugged, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she said, picking up the last of her things and turning to walk past me.

I grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Some of the clothes she'd been carrying dropped to the floor.

"How many?" I asked.

She shook her head, looking away from me. "You, and the guy I married. That's it. I've never been with anyone else. I would've told you if I had. You know I would've," she said, looking me straight in the eye.

My grip on her arm slackened, but I didn't let go. I believed her about that much. Tonia took a lot of things lightly, but sleeping around wasn't one of them. Between Angel and Ma, nothing slipped past our family on the neighborhood rumor mill—so even if she had started getting busy, there was little chance I wouldn't have heard about it.

"Not how many guys you've been with. I want to know how many kids you lost," I said, keeping my voice down, for the moment.

She half shrugged, looking away in shame. "I don't know," she said, sounding utterly defeated. "Most didn't last more than a few weeks. I'd lose the pregnancy, and it was like I got a really heavy period. I didn't mean to keep it from you. I never talk about it. Not even with my mother. I just wanted to forget it. I almost had a little boy. He made it to four months. I had the whole hormone thing going on, so I can't really describe what it did to me when I lost him," she whispered.

I couldn't really explain why, but hearing those words from her stabbed at me in all kinds of strange ways. Maybe it was the thought that she could've been happy giving birth to some other guy's kid. Maybe it was because I was still mentally stuck as a seventeen-year-old, and she'd actually grown up and tried to become an adult without me. I guess I always figured nothing major would ever happen in her life that I wouldn't be a part of. Everyone else might move on with their lives, but I never thought she'd leave me behind, like everyone else had.

I could almost consciously feel my walls starting to go up. One wrong turn in the conversation and I'd probably start yelling at her, accusing her of things just to push her away.

"So what about me? You looking to keep trying with me, or what?" I asked, sounding flippant, like the idea disgusted me.

She shook her head, lowering her eyes. "No. I know you're not ready for kids, and maybe I'm not either. Besides, the doctor said my body needs a break. I didn't mean for anything to happen, Bobby. I didn't even mean to start sleeping with you again. This is why I didn't want to move in. I was afraid you'd find out, and you'd look at me the way you're looking at me right now. Like I disgust you, and you hate me for not telling you."

"I don't hate you," I said. "Why the fuck would you say that, Tonia? We're just talking here."

"You would hate me," Tonia whispered. "If you knew..." she choked. She squeezed her eyes shut, and bit her lip, fighting for control of her voice. "God, Bobby. If you only knew yourself half as well as I do," she said, letting her clothes drop and jerking her arm from my grasp.

She threw open my door, and walked out, taking the stairs two at a time on the way down. I heard the front door slam, and I just stood there trying to convince myself I didn't give a shit if she left. I didn't care if I never saw her again in my life.

You know you're a spectacular liar if you can talk yourself into believing something that stupid.


	20. We Are Now

I became a real monster to live with after that day. I didn't just bust my brothers' balls when they attempted to speak to me; I cut them off and stomped on them. I got fired from my job for getting too rough with the drunks, so I started selling dope to cover the bills while I looked for another position at some other bar.

I probably wanted her back. I had no problem leaving people, but I couldn't stand it when anyone left me. Tonia never got mad at me. She never took anything I said personally, and she gave me my space when I needed it. I'd never pushed her to the point where she'd stormed out of the house in tears and slammed the door behind her in farewell.

I probably wanted her back—and I was probably scared to death she wouldn't have me. Not that anyone could've told me that, because I would've bitten their head off for it. Sure I was pissed. I could've happily lived out my life without ever knowing the intimate details of Tonia's female troubles. After all the shit I'd been through I couldn't believe how upset she'd gotten over a few miscarriages. Worse things could happen in life than the inability to have children. Out of all the people I'd ever met, I thought Tonia would've known that.

I felt like I hardly knew her anymore, and I think that bothered me the most.

I can't argue with anyone who calls me 'unstable.' I know I am. I fluctuate from happy-go-lucky to murderous-rage in about two seconds, and it takes more of a toll on me than anyone will ever know. My anger can become blinding, and all-consuming—but it's not the only emotion I'm capable of feeling. I never needed drugs to get high, because every success and achievement I ever experienced put me into the stratosphere. I experimented with pot and some coke in my teens, and it felt good, but the natural highs that came with hockey, winning fights, making love to Tonia—they seemed better somehow. I had to work to feel that good. I didn't just snort a line, or smoke a joint—I struggled, and I won.

Ma always said that could be my strength, if I wanted it to be. She knew my anger was a cover, to keep the world from seeing how deeply I could feel pain, and loss. At least it was when I was young. At some point my fear of getting hurt by other people did turn to rage, and that led to all kinds of interesting predicaments over the years.

Everywhere I've ever gone in my life, I've developed a reputation. People know me as a crazy fuck, a dude who shouldn't be messed with. That doesn't mean I win every fight I get into; it just means I win big when I win, and I lose small when I lose.

Not that my luck always holds out.

Anyone who stays in the game long enough takes their shots.

Everyone.

* * *

A creepy chill went down my spine when I walked in the front doors of my old high school. I'd graduated four or five years before, so I'd almost forgotten how shitty it felt to walk down those halls. 

Ma always said she would've home-schooled me if she could've afforded it. She thought that would've kept me out of trouble, given me the sense of freedom and flexibility I needed.

My feet took me straight toward the principal's office without conscious direction from my brain. Just before rounding the corner, I heard my little brothers' voices.

"So, seriously, Angel. Are we like, going to die for this or what?" Jack asked, his tone fast-paced and sarcastic. He sounded more like a teenager than the last time I'd come home.

It'd been over a year. I could hardly believe the kid was already fourteen.

"Would you shut up? You act like you never done nothin' in your life, man," Angel shot back, just as I walked around the corner.

"Me? You're the one acting like..." Jack cut off when he realized why Angel's eyes had gone wide.

The two of them sat on each end of a bench just outside the office door. The second they recognized me, they started to stare, blinking once in stereo. I hazarded a guess that their shock didn't come from the mere sight of me. I had walked into the building decked out in a business suit with all the bells and whistles.

They'd never seen me looking so sharp.

"Hello, boys," I greeted, smiling like a shark as I reached up very deliberately to remove an expensive set of shades.

Angel turned to look at Jack, putting on his mimic-voice, "'Seriously, Angel. Are we gonna die?' We sure as fuck are now, smartass! You just had to fuckin' say it, didn't you? God heard you, and now look what happened!" he said, pointing to me.

I wasn't sure if I should be offended or heartened by the fact my younger brothers thought of me as an angel of death.

Jack scowled, reaching over to punch Angel on the shoulder. Ang walloped him right back. Jack cringed, grabbing his bony shoulder with the opposite hand. Then they both looked at me, scowling.

I didn't stop smirking for a second. "Hey, don't stop on my account. Please, continue to beat each other senseless," I invited, gesturing to the empty hallway to remind them no one else was around.

They rolled their eyes at me, in stereo.

I made a mental note to have a long conversation with Jerry about annoying teenaged brothers over a drink at the bar that evening. It seemed like the older we got the more we enjoyed getting together for a good laugh at Jack and Angel's expense.

* * *

The secretary was a heavy-set, middle-aged black woman. She paged the assistant principal to let him know I'd arrived to speak with him, and then gave me a through look, up and down. 

"Mr. Seamore will see you now. Just make sure I'm sitting here when you go. Even if I could look at the high school boys going through here all day long, there just ain't nothin' to see—and I'd appreciate watching a real man walk through this office for once—especially from behind. You hear me, Bobby Mercer?" she said, raising one eyebrow at me. The woman was deathly serious.

I smiled; Jack and Angel scoffed behind me. "I'll see what I can do," I replied smugly.

"You do that," she said, reaching for the ringing phone and answering it without missing a beat.

The second Seamore saw me, he basically told me to get lost, and to take my brothers with me. He wouldn't even tell me what they'd done. Ma would have to call the school on Monday to get the details.

I didn't feel like waiting, so I made them take me to their lockers and open them up. I found a whole load of weed underneath all of Angel's unused text books.

They'd been selling and trading, and I could guess for who.


	21. Respectable

AN: Sorry it took so long to update. School and whatnot. Anyway, thanks so much for taking the time to read!

* * *

Mom was home early from work. It surprised me to find her car in the driveway when I pulled up. Angel and Jack both ran upstairs the second they entered the house, but I followed my nose to the kitchen. I could smell spaghetti, and my stomach growled to remind me I hadn't eaten all day.

I'd been too nervous to take advantage of the continental breakfast offered at the motel I'd checked out of that morning—and between driving into Detroit, attending the hearing to appeal my indefinite suspension from the league, and arriving home just in time to get a call from the high school about Jack and Angel—I simply hadn't gotten a chance to sit down and eat.

Mom was at the stove, stirring the pasta and sauce in their separate pots. I stood in the entryway for a long time, watching her and smiling.

"Hey, Ma," I finally said.

She stiffened at the sound of my voice, whipping around to look at me. It'd been a year, and I knew she'd probably had moments when she wondered if I ever would come back.

Her eyes went wide at the sight of me, and I think she forgot about the wooden spoon in her hand. I'd never seen her put so off-kilter, not even when I used to light things on fire, or come home raging drunk with blood all over my knuckles. After a moment of soaking in my appearance, she smiled, her eyes shining.

"Oh, Bobby," she breathed. "You look so handsome."

I smirked, purposely straightening my jacket just to play up the image of a well-off business man. "Don't I always?" I said, acting like hot shit and making her laugh.

I dropped the act, smiling genuinely as I approached and took the spoon from her, setting it down on the counter before I gathered her up in my arms.

She clung to me like she might never have the chance to hug me again, and I felt a stab of guilt for not coming home sooner. If it hadn't been for my appeal, it probably would've been a lot longer.

She released me at last, holding me at arm's length. "You should've told me you were coming!" she mock-scolded. "I wasn't expecting you until next week, and you said you might not have time to visit before you had to head back. I was going to get Jack and Angel to carry the extra bed down from the attic."

I chuckled, taking off my shades and sliding them into my breast pocket. "My appeal date got moved up. Don't worry about the bed—I can manage with the couch. Don't let the suit fool you, I haven't civilized that much."

Her eyes fell away from me, but for just a second I saw the disappointment in them. She tried to cover it up; she smiled, like the idea of me settling into a life that might make her proud had never occurred to her. I kicked myself mentally, suddenly realizing how stupid I'd been to let her see just how clean-cut and classy I could've been in a better life. None of her sons had much of a chance to make something of themselves. My resume included hockey, managing strip bars, and moving drugs. Angel sold, conned, and hustled. Jerry worked construction. Jack couldn't pull his head out of his guitar case long enough to go to school most days.

We all probably could've done well if we tried—but we didn't. I guess we didn't love her enough to do that one simple thing for her. None of us did.

I felt my brow crease with concern while I looked at her, and I gripped her shoulders gently. "Hey, you're doing okay here, aren't you? You've got plenty of money? Jack and Angel..."

"It's good to have you home," she interrupted, taking my hands in hers and squeezing them. She turned me toward the table, and led me by the arm to a chair. "Now tell me all about the hearing today. Did they say when they'll be lifting your suspension?"

I sighed, unbuttoning my jacket and sinking into my chair at the head of the table. I let my forehead come to rest on one fist, unable to articulate just how much I didn't want to think about the appeal. I glanced up at her, smirking a little. "I guess if you look on the bright side, we won't have to worry about all the expensive dental work I'd need after getting the rest of my teeth knocked out."

She smiled grimly, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much hockey meant to you."

I shook my head, not in the mood for pity. "It's just a stupid game. Besides, I had a good run. They just haven't invented the league that can handle me."

At the sound of the pasta boiling over, she suddenly turned and left me, running over to turn down the heat on the stove. I got up and went about setting the table without thinking about it—evidence of how far I'd evolved from the evil, stubborn child I'd once been.

When I was a kid, Ma had to fight with me to make me do anything. She'd never given up on me—and whatever progress I had made, she'd been proud of.

Maybe if I gave it a little push, Jack and Angel might turn out better than me.

It was the least I could do—for them, and for her.

* * *

Shark leaned back in his chair, smirking at me while blowing out smoke rings from a cigar. I stood before him, surrounded by all his little goons and hangers-on. Half of them looked doped to the gills, lounging around on rotting couches collected for their warehouse hideout.

Shark leaned forward, clearly amused by my presence. "Bobby Mercer. Haven't seen you in years. Thought you might've died."

I ignored him, pulling out the zip lock bags of weed from the pockets of my jeans and dropping them on the floor one at a time. "That's all of it," I informed him while pulling out my wallet. I pulled out all the cash I had on me—some two hundred bucks—and I let it drop on the small pile of bags on the floor. "That should more than cover the eighth they sold in the parking lot this morning. You're square with my brothers now, Darrell. I don't want to hear about you contacting them to move your shit ever again."

Shark threw up his hands in a mockery of a 'the sky is falling' pose. "Oh, woe is me. The best street fighter I've ever seen has told me to back off two of my best sellers at the only high school in my territory. Whatever shall I do?"

I glared at him, subtly allowing one of my hands to rest on my hip, under my coat. I had a handgun in my waistband, and I'd waste everyone in the room if it came down to it. "You'll do what I fucking ask you to do," I threatened.

So much for Mom's dream of seeing me grow up respectable. I'd done a lot of stupid things in my life, but this was just ridiculously stupid. I kept telling myself I was doing it for Jack and Angel—but what good would it do them if my dead body turned up on the porch in the morning?

"Or what?" Darrell asked, arching one eyebrow at me.

I braced my stance, moving my feet to shoulder width apart. "I think you know what," I replied with deadly softness.

Shark hefted himself to his feet. He looked good, strong. He hadn't overfed in the years since we'd played hockey together in early high school. We'd had a good rivalry—almost to the point of friendship. Then he'd dropped out of school to sell drugs, and I'd gotten pulled into traveling with a minor league hockey team for a good portion of every school year. We'd done some business on occasion since then. I'd even bought from him a few times—let him have access to customers in the bars where I'd worked.

I hadn't counted on the fact that he might hold a grudge against me. If he'd had the opportunities Ma had given me, hadn't had to worry about money, in his mind he probably thought he would've made the league too.

Or maybe it wasn't that in-depth. Maybe he just didn't like me. That wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.

Shark shot me a grin, blowing out smoke in my direction. He stood a good four inches taller than me. I'd had the physical advantage of a low center of gravity on the ice, but we weren't on the ice.

"You know, Mercer, I could tell you I'm gonna back off. I could say your brothers are square, and it was nice doing business with them. I could wait until you leave town again and then pay them a visit after school, get them back on track. How many years until you come back and find out, huh?"

My eyes narrowed in his general direction. "You think you can play me, Shark? You think you're smarter than the other retards in this neighborhood who've tried to fuck with me?"

He started to chuckle, ashing his cigar. "Be real, Bobby. You ain't shit here anymore," he said, walking around behind me.

I'd had just about enough of playing games with that fucker, and I was all ready to take my chances drawing on him when I realized he'd beaten me to the punch.. By the time I turned again to look at him, Shark had a piece in hand, and it was pointed right at my head.

He nodded at me once. "Yup. Same old Bobby. All bright flame, and no follow-through. Now tell me, Mercer. What should I do with you?"

"I'm gonna kill you, Shark," I said, anger flashing hot inside me. I wanted to pull my gun out and blast him—go out in a dazzling blaze of glory, or make a legend-inspiring escape.

Darrell grinned at me, flashing all his teeth, just like a shark. "Not if I kill you first," he replied, thumbing back the hammer on his revolver and causing the cylinder to turn.

I thought for sure he was going to plug me right there, but I got hit in the back of the head before I could witness my own dramatic finish.

I fell to my knees, and then my side, feeling the darkness pressing in on me. The image of Jack and Angel sitting on that bench outside the principle's office flashed through my mind, and I wondered what the fuck I'd been thinking, trying to save the two of them from the inevitable.

Why the hell couldn't they have been smarter? If they'd done things right, I never would've found out about their little operation. I knew that because I'd sold plenty of drugs in high school.

I never fucking got caught.


	22. Pain

"Bobby. Bobby, wake up."

Someone was shaking me. My head hurt like mad, and someone was shaking me. Jack was shaking me, I decided, when I heard his whispered pleadings more clearly.

"Please, you've got to wake up," he said softly, his whispers becoming strained, panicked.

He thought I'd been unconscious. Poor kid had no idea. He had no idea I'd just become too lost in my own pain to pay attention to anything else. He didn't know I couldn't think straight, I could barely breathe. I'd shut my eyes and wished hard for death, hoping that somewhere among my massive injuries was a wound that would allow me to bleed out. Hell couldn't compare to being imprisoned in a broken body, lying in some dark back alley in Detroit.

"I have to get you help," he said, and from the way his voice hitched I figured he was probably crying. I could hear him tapping buttons on his cell phone. "God, you're going to be so pissed I followed you, but I couldn't help it. Why'd you have to come here? Why couldn't you just leave it alone?"

Even if I'd had an answer to that, I couldn't speak. I couldn't say I'd wanted better for him and Angel. I'd wanted them to grow up right, so Ma could be proud of them.

Liquid filled my eyes, and I couldn't tell if it was tears or blood until it rolled down my face and Jack wiped it away, and then held up his fingers so he could examine them.

The liquid on his thin fingers was both blood and tears. I hoped he would never know that—because I didn't think I could stand it if he knew he'd seen me crying. I tried to turn away from him, but the pain nearly wrung a scream from my lungs. I couldn't let him see me like that. I couldn't become another trauma he had to endure.

Jack sighed. "Oh, Bobby," he said softly, scooting closer so he knelt beside me. I felt his fingers run gently through my hair, a comforting gesture I'd seen Mom use on him a million times.

He was still young. So young—mentally, and physically.

For a long time after Jack hung up his cell phone, the only sound in that alley was my ragged breathing, and an occasional groan I couldn't suppress.

"It's snowing," Jack said after a while, still absently stroking my hair. He sounded so far away, and muffled. Like he was speaking to me in a tunnel. "It was snowing that night, when they chased me from my room and out into the back yard," he told me.

I had no idea what he was talking about. I couldn't remember him ever getting chased out of the house. Well, at least not at night.

Then again, I had been gone for a long time.

"It was dark out there," he continued. "Really dark, except for the snowflakes. I thought they were going to kill me, but they stopped and turned around," he said. "They disappeared into the dark and the snow, and it got really quiet. Like the whole world froze over, except for me. I didn't hear anything for a long time. Then I heard the screaming, and the shots..." he trailed off.

It seemed like a million years before I heard the sirens wailing in the distance, coming to save me for once. It took months for me to piece together the story Jack told me that night while we waited for the ambulance.

When Mom or the counselors asked him, Jack had always claimed he didn't remember the night his adopted parents were murdered. Later, Mom told me it was possible he really didn't remember until sitting with me in that dark alley, thinking I was going to die. She said the snow might've triggered the memory. To my knowledge, he never discussed the subject with anyone ever again.

* * *

"Goddamn it, Angel," I bitched, wincing against the sharp pain shooting through me. My good arm was slung over my younger brother's shoulders, and he was attempting to help me into the house from the car.

Angel mumbled something about white boys not being able to take the pain, and if looks could kill, my eyes would've shot death-beams straight through him.

"Oh, be careful with him, Angel. The doctor said he'd be in a lot of pain. He doesn't have the morphine drip anymore," Mom reminded, following behind us.

It had been a terrible week for everyone. Mom had stayed with me for days in the hospital, trying to comfort me—especially at night when I couldn't sleep. Jack had done a lot of crying, Angel had disappeared for a couple days without contacting anyone, and Jerry...Jerry was doing his usual thing with the Union.

"So, tell me something, Angel," I said as we struggled to make it up the staircase. "Did you really spend two days at the library trying to cram in a twelve page paper like you told Ma, or did you and Sofi have to go into hiding because her boyfriend was out to kill you both?"

"Was writing a paper, like I said," he repeated calmly. "Not my fault the teacher forgot we don't have a computer for getting email. Completely forgot it was due."

We made it to the top of the stairs, and turned toward Jack's room, where Ma had set up the extra bed for me. "Really? Mind if I read it?" I asked sarcastically. "Not like I have anything better to do these days."

I didn't have time to react when I felt him deviate slightly off course, walking me straight into the door jamb. I nearly screamed at the shot of lightning pain that started in my arm and ribs, and then quickly spread to the rest of my body. I couldn't even draw breath to curse, it hurt so fucking much.

"Whups, my bad," Angel deadpanned, backing up so he could walk me into it again.

I was gasping for air even after he got me over to the bed, and let me sit down, apparently finished torturing me for the moment. "I'm gonna kill you," I finally managed, falling onto my back and grimacing.

"No. You'll lay your stupid ass down, Bobby. You just lay there for a week or two and chill out. Never seen nothin' as stupid as what you did. You lucky you ain't dead. You know better than to go mess with crazy white dudes like Shark. I know you know better, because you taught me better than that," he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

I glared at him, and he glared right back, the muscle in his jaw working. He'd grown up on me. Way more than Jack had. Still, he had a lot to learn.

"You think you're all grown up, Angel?" I wheezed. "You think you can take care of your own business, and I should keep out of it?"

He nodded. "Yeah. You're damn right you should stay out of it. No one asked you to get involved, Bobby. It's none of your business!"

I groaned at the effort it took for me to lever my weight up on my elbows, gasping for breath. Once I managed to elevate myself slightly, I had to pause and rest before I could speak. "It is my business," I said, my voice weak. "You drag Jack into it, and it's always gonna be my business. I don't give a shit what you do, but he takes no part in it. Got me?"

Angel nodded after a moment of thought, then turned and left me there. He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

"You need anything, bro?" he asked, his tone much softer.

I shook my head, easing back down on the bed and sighing. I sensed he stayed there watching me for a minute or two before turning to go. I listened to the sound of his footsteps fade away, and then closed my eyes, hoping to escape my pain for a while.


End file.
